so we drove on toward death
by siniye
Summary: Post-WW1 AU. Thor thought his brother dead after the Great War, and with haunting memories pushing and the glitter of America pulling, he finds himself in New York City in the roaring 20's. When Loki resurfaces treading a dangerous line in the not-so-new world, how will Thor react?
1. Chapter 1: stirring

"Fight well, brother," Loki joked, tears still in his eyes, "So I don't have to follow you."

Thor gave his little brother a crushing hug, one unfitting for his crisp uniform and cropped blonde hair. A military man, in all senses, his father had complimented earlier while his mother sobbed quietly into her handkerchief. Loki had been suspiciously quiet this morning, never making eye contact with anyone and stealing glances at Thor when he thought he wasn't looking. When Thor did catch his wandering eyes, they held a peculiar sort of sadness he'd never seen in his scheming little brother before. That sadness was back in full, unbridled force, spilling over in the tears threatening to overflow their banks. Thor absentmindedly wondered if their strict father would tolerate something as 'feminine' as tears in this parting moment, but as Thor boarded the train and snuck a glance out the window, he found his tiny hope shattered. Father was obviously reprimanding Loki for his moment of weakness, but when he noticed his golden son's face at the window he collected himself and let Loki alone for the moment.

Sighing, a small spring of memories bubbled up in Thor's mind. Once the two reached certain ages, there was no more crying, no more playing, no more disobedience, and rules backed by threats never really outlined but imagined by frightened, overactive children. Loki seemed to always bear the brunt of Father's anger, being thin and lithe and tricky, not at all taking to their new authoritarian existence nicely. Small rebellions would but ignored, but large discrepancies warranted the paddle or the belt, or, very rarely, the cage. The cage, Thor shuddered at the thought, was a hole in their basement floor covered by a heavy iron grate, a part of what was the dungeon when their house was a full castle, not a renovated ruinage of it's former glory. Thor, fortunately, had never angered his father enough to warrant it, but Loki had been placed in its custody three times.

The first, Thor remembered, was when Loki acted up at one of their parents' fancy dinner parties and embarrassed and outraged Odin into throwing the raven-haired youth in as soon as the last guest cleared the gate. There was much screaming and pounding on the decrepit stone walls of the tiny enclosure, until Odin brought him up the next morning to reveal bloody hands and a throat so hoarse he couldn't speak properly for a full week. The next time was a few years later, brought on by a cruel prank Loki had pulled on one of his schoolteachers that had got him expelled from the private school their family had gone to for generations. There was yelling that time, but more asking for Thor or Frigga to help him get out rather than for forgiveness. The last time was when Loki set a trap for the old man, and before Odin sought medical attention for his badly bleeding eye, Loki was thrown into the cage. As Frigga took Odin into town, Thor crept down to the cellar when he realized Loki was making no noise. Although he had only been inside for a few hours, Loki looked absolutely feral, all messy hair and torn clothes and dirt-caked skin, looking up at him with madness in his piercing green eyes and not whispering a word. Thor only glimpsed it before he had to turn tail and escape. As soon as he shut the dungeon door he realized that he had only been repeating that same word, _escape_, in his mind, and either at his brother's animalistic form or the realization that he had believed his brother a monster so terrifying it warranted such bolting, he threw up.

Thor shook his head in an attempt to dispel the foul memories, and looked back out the glass as the train lurched forward. In a sudden fit of panic, he stood and threw down the window, hanging outside to see his family waving.

"Goodbye!" he called frantically, "I'll see you again!"

Loki cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled something, but it was lost to the engine and the wind, and then to Father jerking his arm away roughly and barking something at him. Thor drew inside, as the train was already off the platform and his family was obviously now preoccupied. He settled into an uncomfortable sleep, with iron bars and green eyes haunting his dreams.

* * *

It was November 1917, and Thor received a stark letter from his father informing him that his brother was to be shipped out to the trenches near the Somme River in France in less than a month. Three years of hard work and an immense amount of luck granted Thor a comfortable position away from most of the trenches and the warfare, loading and unloading supply boats and aircrafts. It was a dull, simple job, but he was grateful for it. More fortunately, it was relatively easy to secure a day off and travel back to his hometown to send off his dear brother, but that was where his luck ended. He overslept and missed the first train, and, now forced to take a later one, barely got into his station before Loki was set to depart.  
The station was flooded with people, most trying to leave or arrive on their winter holidays, or the grave few who were being sent to war. Thor was jostled every which way, but, somehow, he managed to find his way onto Loki's platform, and searched frantically for his brother's pale form, ears pricked for the sound of his voice, though Thor wasn't quite sure he could remember it. A good few meters in front of him, he saw a familiar thin figure dart out from behind a brick column, head bent and hands curled into fists-his brother wore his chagrin exactly as Thor remembered. The blonde man glanced back at the pillar and spied Odin looking grimly out after his younger son, before turning back in a disappointed huff and leaving.

"Loki!" Thor searched again, not accustomed to his brother's new cropped hair and stiff uniform. He spotted him again, now as the younger was boarding the train, and Thor muscled his way through the crowd to get closer and peer in through the windows. Loki's ghost-like face appeared in a window a few paces down, and Thor reached it just as the engine pulled the cars away. Momentarily stunned, Loki had tears running hot down his angry face, and a bolt of shock ran past his face as he saw his brother down below. He yanked the curtain shut as another look of fresh outrage painted his features, and then the train was gone.

Blinking slowly, Thor's body moved on autopilot to a bench near the back of the platform. He slumped down onto it and put his head in his hands bewilderedly. What had just happened? he asked, slowly retracing the actions of the morning. He drew conclusions, assuming that Odin and Loki had gotten in another spat, which explained Loki's heated flight to the train, but not the look he gave Thor. It was full of malice and grief and...disappointment. He suddenly remembered the last words he had heard his brother say to him;

"Fight well, brother, so I don't have to follow you."

* * *

Thor wrote his brother every day; they were usually long, rambling, inarticulate things, mostly questions for Loki to answer, and Loki usually did, but in as few words as possible, and in incomplete sentences. Thor would send him bundles of papers and only receive lists of "yes"'s and "no"'s, and Thor couldn't tell which questions they were answering. Soon, he learned he'd need to keep his own copy of his letters in order to figure out what his brother was trying to tell him, but the return correspondence didn't get much more informative.

Be it the futility of the letters or the steadily-increasing pace of his job, Thor dropped off on his letter writing and began writing only short letters once a week, as winter turned to spring. Spring heated into summer, and then the seasons cooled into autumn, and on November 11, 1918, the War to End All Wars came to an end. Thor traveled home quickly, as he had stayed on British soil for most of the war, and was celebrated by his hometown, along with many other soldiers, as a hero. He didn't pay much attention to his brother's slow return until he found the tin where he had stored all of Loki's letters. The last was dated May 20th, and contained another short list of cryptic yes-no's, and "the Germans are awfully quiet lately," just before his scribbly signature. Thor ignored the foreboding line and connected the date and subsequent loss of communication to the Spring Offensive. Loki must have been so busy fighting he'd forgotten to write, or felt nothing was worth writing about. Suspicion roused itself again when Thor received a bundle of return-to-sender mail delayed by the war. They were all letters he had sent after May 20th, and they fit nicely in with another theory of his-Loki had been re-stationed after the start of the German's attacks and nobody had forwarded the mail to his new post-how could he have written back if he had nothing to answer to?

He'd be along soon, Thor reassured himself.

Nearly a week passed, and on November 16, 1918-Thor will never forget-he received a telegram:

"Deeply regret to inform you Private L. Odinson missing, presumably killed in action France May 21st 1918"

That was it. There was no other letter, no visiting officer, no explanations. Just "missing, presumably killed."-and a good few months late, at that.

It was absolutely heartbreaking.

And so, he descended. There was the initial shock of the telegram, and a month of torturous, ever-present grief, and then the eldest-turned-only son seemed to be alright again. He laughed, he smiled, he functioned, but melancholy's tendrils slowly wrapped around him, dragging him further into an abyss. Every place he went, every person he spoke to, everything he saw or felt or tasted or smelled reminded him of Loki. Although it never bothered him before, Thor began having nightmares about the Great War, intermittently at first, but they became more frequent, began spilling over from the world of sleep into his waking hours. Most were not of himself or any soldiers he fought side-by-side with, but of his brother. Loki in the draft office, Loki arriving at the trenches, and the worst nightmare of all; Loki being killed. His imagination excelled at that one; the Loki of his dreams encountered landmines, mortars, machine gun fire, mustard gas, or the bullets reserved for turn-tailing cowards, all imagery graphic and potent and heart-shattering.

Three years spent slowly slipping downwards, three years drowning in slow-working depression, three years of agonizing dreams, three years of his life lost.

He knew he had to get out.

* * *

It started from an offhand comment a radio reporter made, contrasting the desolation in many parts of Europe to the economic booms of America. The idea of leaving for the United States became more and more appealing in his mind, tales of luxuries and glamor fuel to the fire. On November 16th, 1921, Thor packed up necessities enough to fill a large trunk and left the only home he'd ever known. Less than a fortnight later, Thor laid eyes upon the Mother of Exiles intent on leaving his past and his problems behind. He breathed in the salty sea air of New York Harbor. The New World-no, my new home, he corrected himself, stepping down onto American soil. English as a first language, a British pedigree, and considerable sum of inherited money expedited his entry into the American world.

Nestled neatly into a brickwork apartment in Manhattan and working steady construction jobs, Thor began to make friends. The two girls that lived across the hall from him were always bothering him-well, only one ever actually got on his nerves, and only sometimes. Jane Foster was the older of the two, was a nurse at a small hospital nearby, and Darcy Lewis, an absentee college student who was the perfect example of all the "sassy, forward-thinking, feminist" women he had heard so many disparaging things about on the other side of the pond, (but he thought fondly of her anyways). He thought fondly of them both, really, and whenever they weren't working they'd be out on the town or in either apartment. Dr. Selvig was another one of Thor's new-found companions, another European forced out by the war, though he had been in New York for much longer. He taught science at a local secondary school, but Darcy had heard rumors that he had been a very prestigious university professor back home. Thor had learned that putting too much stock in Darcy's gossip did not usually end well, but it did seem plausible. Selvig was wise and educated and reminded Thor of his father's best qualities.

His life returned to some state of normality. He went to museums with Dr. Selvig, parties with Darcy, soup kitchens with Jane. He had a nine-to-five job, and a regular circadian rhythm-the nightmares had been banished away in the lights of the City that Never Slept, resurfacing once in a blue moon, but to shortly be forgotten again with the help of his new routines, new acquaintances, new life. The Great War, Europe, his family, all seemed millions of miles away, far in his past and unimportant in his present.

Four months, he spent, reveling in his new freedom in the Home of the Brave.

Four months, albeit, of self-deception.


	2. Chapter 2: jumping hurdles

"Hey, Thor!" Darcy, who was standing outside his apartment as he returned from work, "So you really weren't home, huh? I've been knocking for the past ten minutes, I thought you were ignoring me," she pouted as Thor let her in his Spartan apartment.

"I wholeheartedly doubt I could ever ignore you, Darcy." Thor chuckled.

"You sure can't." Darcy smiled, sitting on Thor's kitchen counter and swinging her legs, "Anyways, what I wanted to tell you about was that I and a few of my gals are going out tonight, and we're all supposed to bring slats." Darcy always said the most confusing things.

"Like, slats of wood? Is that why you need me?"

"No, no, no, slat means a guy," Darcy explained, "And you, big six, are gonna be mine for the evening."

"Why me?"

"Sif's got herself a fly boy from 'cross the pond, figured you two could hit it off. " Thor stared at her dubiously, cocking an eyebrow, "All right, all right, I just wanted to show you off."

Thor sighed; he still wasn't used to how forward the women in America were, "Is Jane going?" He had a bit of a crush on her, he'd admit to himself but never to anyone else. She was so smart, so polite, and so caring. He had been laid up with the flu shortly after New Years, and she came with home-cooked soup three times a day, every day, until he was over it, acting like it was nothing and downplaying it as her "nursing senses."

"Nope, sorry, she's out with Donald tonight, they're seein' the new Sherlock Holmes picture at the nickelodeon." Darcy said idly. Ah, Donald was Jane's new boyfriend. Thor wouldn't admit to himself he was jealous.

"Is there going to be alcohol?" He asked after a few more beats of silence.

"You betcha!" Darcy clapped him on the arm, "Ain't a real party without booze."

Being in places with alcohol made him nervous, having heard all the horror stories of police officers or federal marshals breaking them up, but he'd never personally run into that sort of trouble before, and when Darcy says a party is going to be the "cat's pajamas", it usually is.

"All right. When do we leave?"

"A half an hour ago. Get changed! Hurry!"

* * *

"This whangdoodle's really playing your tunes, huh, Darcy?" Since they'd arrived, Darcy had been dragging him out into the tiny, cramped dance floor as the band pumped out jazzy song after jazzy song. Thor had been taught all of the traditional, proper ways of dancing, but never this..._Charleston_ dance Darcy had been attempting to teach him for the better part of the past hour.

"Too bad your guy's a real corn-shredder!" All of Darcy's gal-pals erupted into laughter, and Thor took it as his cue to go sit at the bar again. Sif's new guy-friend, Fandral, had been in the Royal Air Force during the war, and kept boasting of how he'd fought the Red Baron to a standstill (Thor knew he was full of it, but at least he was good for reminiscing about home with.)

The night dragged on, and Thor had an "edge," as the Americans called it, as the band started playing slower, more romantic songs. Thor looked over his shoulder to find that Darcy had found a new man to dance with, and let slip a relieved sigh before downing the rest of his drink. He looked up, starting to raise his arm to motion the bartender for another when he spotted a group of men, four or five of them. Bootleggers, he deduced, as they were dressed in long black coats and had dapper hats pulled down over their faces-all but one, who apparently had been taught manners enough to take his hat off indoors. He chuckled to himself and silently congratulated the man, but his brain made an involuntary connection. _He looks familiar_, Thor stared at the odd bootlegger again, taking in his appearance in more detail. He was pale as death, from what you could tell from his sharp-featured face as the rest of him was covered in smart, black leather. His hair was also black, greasy but slicked back to make it appear more fashionable, and it was long and flipped upwards at the ends, looking spiky and menacing. He had dark circles under his eyes, but Thor couldn't tell if it was the lighting or just his natural appearance. All of these features reminded him of someone, but his ossificated mind didn't put the puzzle together until the stranger turned from conversing with the bartender and stared into Thor's eyes. Bright green and as piercing as any daggers.

"Loki," Thor breathed before realizing it. He had also knocked his chair over and began pushing through the throngs of slow dancers before he realized it was his brother's face he'd been staring at. The bootleggers all turned swiftly to leave.

"Sorry, mister, but the bank's closed!" Thor heard Darcy shriek as she punctuated her refusal to her new man with a heavy-handed slap. He turned involuntarily to make sure she was alright, but by the time he turned back, the men were gone, out the back entrance. Pushing forward with more urgency, he threw the back door open into a dark alleyway.

"Loki!" he yelled as he saw the group exiting the alley onto the street. He pounded after them, alcohol finally hitting cerebellum and causing him to stumble slightly. "Brother, please!"

He rounded the corner as the last hatted man entered a car and it sped off. Thor tried running after it, yelling his brother's name, but he only kept up for a few yards before he had to give up. Oh, how drunk was he to believe his dead brother was walking the streets of his new city-and as a criminal, no less. He sat on the curb, breathing in the night air in an attempt to sober himself up and clear his muddled head.

"Really, Loki...a smuggler in America," he laughed to himself, throwing his head back to stare at the inky night sky.

"What's so implausible about it?" a small voice, English-accented, spoke from nowhere. Thor whipped around. "Father always said I was the more wicked of us two."

That voice was just too familiar, but it had matured somehow-gotten deeper and more gravelly, and laced with new wisdom and hardship. Thor moved his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Anything he would've said anyways was wiped from his mind as a thin figured emerged from the shadows of a canopied storefront and into the pale yellow lamp light, throwing different sorts of shadows across his angular face. Thor felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and the way his mouth moved but his voice couldn't quite keep up as he whispered, "Brother," was testament .

"Thor," Loki's head drew back as his brother scrambled to his feet, and he stiffened as Thor stumbled closer.

"Loki!" Thor grasped his brother about the arms, "Oh, how is this, I thought you dead. Is it a trick of the eyes and the spirits?"

"Well, you are definitely drunk, but I am real," Loki explained calmly, only to be crushed in an embrace from his long-tortured brother, "Though I am not the brother you thought me to be."

"What?" Thor pulled back from the hug, confused, "What do you mean?"

"You're not sober enough to understand if I told you now," Loki said, and as if on cue Thor had to hold steady against a light post. "Meet me here tomorrow, seven o'clock sharp." Loki held out a small business card with the name and address of a restaurant printed on it neatly. As Thor took it, Loki turned to leave.

"Wait," Thor collected as much consciousness as he could muster from the corners of his drunken brain, "How did you escape the war?"

"Oh, Thor," Loki paused in his stride, but did not turn to face the blonde man leaning on the lamp post, "Even drunk you must understand that none of us ever truly left it."

And with that, Thor's once-lost brother disappeared into a darkened alleyway, leaving him to let the reality of what had just happened seep in.

* * *

It was 6:34pm, and Thor stood outside the restaurant fidgeting. He was never known for his punctuality, but his stint in the military, and just the absolute nervous excitement of seeing his brother again bid him to arrive a half-hour early. The next twenty-six minutes were spent nervously checking his watch, both ways down the street in front of him, and into the front window of the restaurant.

"Expecting me to sneak by you?" Loki's voice rang out clear across the slightly busy street, just before Thor's timepiece ticked to seven. Thor proffered no response, just looking up balefully as Loki crossed the road gracefully and opened the door to the restaurant. Thor followed him, just in time to see the maitre-d' nod to Loki and lead them to a secluded booth in the shadowy corner of the thematically candle-lit restaurant.

"F-fancy place," Thor murmured, trying to relieve the perceived awkwardness and the butterflies assaulting the inside of his stomach, the same that had kept him up last night and kept him distracted at work.

"Not really," Loki sighed, gracefully sliding in to his seat, "Relatively, I mean."

"Oh," Thor sat as well, looking every which way but in his brother's direction, "So...you come here often?"

"Thor," the raven-haired man said seriously, finally forcing Thor's attention to him, "Do you really wish to waste breath with small talk? I thought you came seeking answers."

Thor nodded and cleared his throat. "Right."

"Order first," Loki handed him a menu, then signaled a waiter over, "Then, we will begin."

"The opportunity presented itself during the first few hours of the Spring Offensive." Loki said abruptly as they were eating.

"What?" Thor asked through a mouthful of spaghetti.

"Did you forget the manners mother drilled into us?" Loki pulled back in mock disgust, "You asked me last night; how I escaped."

"Oh," Thor said, after swallowing.

"There was an opening, no other soldiers, friend or foe, were watching, and I bolted. I had to stay in Belgium without a name or papers until the war ended, and I snuck across into America on a boat of high-profile political refugees."

"So you're here_ illegally_?" Thor leaned over the table and hushed his voice, tone dripping with astonishment.

"Not exactly," Loki wiped his mouth daintily on his napkin, "I still pay taxes. And papers are easy enough to forge, and no one spares you a second glance when you speak perfect English." For the last part of his sentence, Loki's usual British accent had been replaced with a spot-on New Yorker impersonation. Thor was impressed, but not really surprised. Loki had been a master of such masks since childhood. "I assume you came the long way?"

"Yes," Thor swallowed again, "Last November."

"Any reason you waited so long?"

"Not particularly, though with mother's passing I didn't feel much left keeping me in England."

"Oh." Loki looked very somber for a moment, and his eyes seemed to grow older and wiser, "So Mother is dead?"

"Yes. She caught a bad case of pneumonia and died in her sleep in October." They sat in silence for a bit longer, pretending to be more interested in their food.

"So..." Thor started after he believed the silence unbearable, "After you got to New York, what happened?"

Loki glanced up at him, now shaken from his reverie, "I couldn't find a good job without any real documentation, so I took to stealing and gambling-petty crimes," he added as he caught Thor's look of bewilderment, "Nothing serious, nothing ruinous to the people I stole from, unless they really deserved it. But I got caught, sentenced to six months in a city jail. I met some mobsters, all in for charges from embezzlement or bootlegging charges. They were impressed with my attitude and my trickery, so when I got out they came looking for me. They set me up with legal papers, a new apartment, everything I needed to live a comfortable New York City life on the wrong side of the law. In return, I helped with organizing their crimes-alcohol smuggling, arms dealing, police evasion-everything."

"Then what happened?" Thor asked, surprise painting his features and overflowing in his tone, "How did you leave the gang?"

"Oh, no, Thor, I never left the gang. I run it." Thor gasped, staring at his little brother incredulously. "Not only that gang, but we've absorbed some of the others. Mobs and their little mobsters are so easy to manipulate, and crimes to easy to get away with if you know how." Loki smiled contentedly to himself, "You're looking at one of the country's most wanted, Thor."

The blonde man's mouth hung open in shock as his high-profile criminal brother gently folded his napkin and placed his dirty silverware down like a proper English gentleman. The waiter approached. "Your bill, Mr. Laufeyson." he placed the black rectangle in Loki's hand, bowing respectfully.

"Laufeyson?" Thor asked once the waiter had left, "Is that your new name?"

"No, Thor, it's only my true name." Loki kept his eyes down at signing the hand-written receipt.

"True name? What are you talking about?"

"Did Odin not tell you?" The two were never allowed to call their father by his given name, "I'm not his son. He took me in as a way of repaying an unfortunate debt and cast me away as soon as the War summoned me." He paused, now looking into Thor's wide, wavering blue eyes.

"I was never your real brother, Thor."

* * *

It had begun to rain.

"Wait!" Loki was already far down the dark street. Thor started after him, running to keep up with his not-brother's wide gait and fast pace. He was always the more athletic of the two, however, and gained quickly. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Loki took an abrupt turn down a tight alley, and Thor had to double-back as he missed it. He followed it into a wider, perpendicular alley-way and caught another glimpse of his brother turning into another street. Running harder now, and bellowing his brother's name louder, Thor turned the corner and almost slipped on the wet ground.

"Brother, please-" he yelled again, only to be cut off by Loki melting quickly out of the shadows and pushing him up against the brck building wall.

"Stop calling me that," Loki growled through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on the other man's bunched-up shirt. Thor blinked, shock and sorrow overflowing in his blue eyes. "I knew it was a mistake to meet you here," He relaxed his arms and slipped his hands away, turning away from his once-brother's face, "The Odinsons continue to bring me nothing but misfortune. I should've left you on the curb last night, we'd both be better off."

"Loki!" Thor exclaimed, taking hold of his brother's shoulders and forcing his eyes to him. "How could you say that? When I-" Thor tried to swallow the lump in his throat and continue, speaking more softly, "When I thought you dead, I felt as if my whole world had ended, that a part of myself was lost forever. You wish to tell me I'd be better off with a..." He had to pause again, trying not to break out in sobs, "Without my dearest brother?"

"I'm not your brother!" Loki screeched, trying to pull out of Thor's grasp, "I never was! We've been living a lie Father told-"

"Father is dead, Loki!" Thor yelled, gripping his brother tighter, "He cannot harm you any longer."

"Yes!" Tears were brimming in Loki's eyes as well, now, "Yes, he can! He's doing it right now. Through you, through my memories, through my entire life. I will never escape his damned shadow." Loki looked down now, voice small with the sound of weeping, "I will never escape your shadow, either," His hands now clutched at Thor's shirtsleeves, finally allowing sobs to escape his body. Thor had no response. He merely clutched his crying brother loser to his chest, stroking his hair and trying unsuccessfully not to let himself succumb to such ugly weeping.


	3. Chapter 3: conquered scars

They somehow ended up at Loki's penthouse. Loki had brought Thor a change of clothes, as they were dripping wet from staying outside in the rain so long.

"You change, too, "Thor interrupted Loki as he walked towards the kitchen, "I don't want you catching a cold."

Loki grimaced. Thor was being over-protective as usual, and an unwanted sense of nostalgia washed over him briefly. "I'm just putting the kettle on."

Thor only stared, and Loki felt as if his not-brother's blue eyes were trying to see into his soul. He disappeared into the kitchen. The blonde man sighed and began peeling off his sopping clothes, wiping himself dry with a towel and putting Loki's clothes on. They were a bit too small, as he had expected, but he appreciated them no less. Loki emerged from the kitchen again.

"I'll," he started shakily, taking a deep breath before trying again, "I'll go hang those up to dry."

Thor nodded, feeling the familiar awkwardness set in over him and his brother again. He took to looking around his brother's home, noting the high-class paintings and expensive furnishings. The high keening of the boiling kettle called him from his wandering, and he moved back towards the kitchen. Loki was already inside, taking the pot from the stove and pouring the steaming water into two ornate teacups.

"Still two sugars, no milk?" Loki spoke softly.

"No, I'll have it straight," Thor replied.

"Ah." Loki remarked. So his not-brother has changed in his absence, though tea preferences weren't really that important in relation to what could really be different. He brought the platter over to the small table but did not sit down, merely taking his own cup and stepping back so Thor could take his. They drank in silence for the next few minutes.

"So...we are the only two left?" Loki asked.

"Yes." Thor gazed at him, trying to observe his reactions.

"Hmm." Loki was unreadable as always, bringing his cup to his lips again. "Anyways, how is life in New York treating you-"

"Loki," Thor derailed his brother's attempt at small-talk, "For three years, you let us think you dead." Loki was stone-faced, appearing to be more interested in something on the wall than what Thor had to say. "Three years you were alive, yet we had no word of you. No letters, no telegrams, nothing. How could you? Why did you not-"

"Because, Thor, Odin had made it _perfectly_ clear the day I was-no, even when you were shipped off I wasn't a part of your family. Did you think your safe job at the shipyards was a stroke of luck? Odin had allies in the army, he pulled strings to get you there, and he pulled those same strings again to make sure I would end up in the damnedest, most hellish trench on the Western front. He wanted me gone, Thor, can't you see? Dead!" He slammed his teacup into the ground a few feet away, shattering it, "How could I have come back to that sort of family? But at the time, the more important question was 'how could I survive?' So I ran, Thor, I turned tail and I _ran_, fast as my legs could carry me and farther than my body could allow. I ran-" a sob cut him off as he braced himself against the side of the counter, "I ran across a whole ocean, Thor, and even that wasn't far enough, because the damned bastard still found me here. Through you." He drew one hand to his face, trying to wipe away the stinging tears.

"Oh, brother..." Thor tried to move closer, to comfort his weeping brother as before.

"I told you not to call me that!"

"What should I call you, then?" Thor's voice rose, "For I still love you like one-"

"No, don't love me!" Loki cried, doubling over the counter again, "Stop loving me while you still can Thor, for nothing good ever comes of loving me," sobs over took him again, and he let Thor near him, finally, "My real parents, dead, Mother, dead, and you..." his voice became soft and hoarse with crying again, "As you said, lost three years of your life to mourning for me. Only despair follows me and the ones that I love, Thor."

Thor embraced him, holding him impossibly tightly in his tanned arms, "No, brother, it is not your fault. It's not your fault." he breathed in, a shuddering thing, steeped in sadness, "Say it."

"It's not my fault." Loki repeated, barely above a whisper.

"It's not your fault."

* * *

Within a fortnight, Thor had bid his old flat goodbye and moved in with Loki. Darcy seemed distraught, and Jane voiced her doubts as well, but when he explained that Loki was his brother, who he had thought dead, they all fell silent. Dr. Selvig nodded solemnly, and Thor knew he truly understood.

"It's not as if I'm leaving forever," Thor rationalized to them, "It's just a quick subway ride into Manhattan."

"Oh, but the subway is so frightening," Jane fretted.

"You'll still visit us all the time, right?" Darcy interjected.

"Not _literally_ all the time, but enough, I suppose," Thor said. Darcy stopped talking, but her protests were still written all over her face.

"Be safe," Selvig clapped him on the shoulder, and that was it.

All of Thor's things occupied a previously empty room in Loki's penthouse, and he took up a part-time job building sets for some of the theaters on Broadway. He didn't need to, as his brother's not-so-honest income could have supported them both easily, but his brother's secretive nocturnal schedule didn't leave them much time together, and Thor decided it was best to keep busy. His brother's job with the mob was a constant, nagging presence in the back of his mind, always. When he was not working, not distracted, free to let his mind wander, his imagination ran wild. Loki never told him what he specifically did late at night, waking up for dinner and coming home just before lunch, always tired-looking and skittery, avoiding Thor's questions. Thor always feared the worst, that he was going to just stop coming home, and no one would know to tell him what happened. He'd go "missing, presumed deceased" again, and Thor wouldn't be able to take it.

His nightmares about Loki's demise returned, but the backdrop of a trench war was replaced with New York scenery, soldiers morphed into trench-coated gangsters, mortar shells turned into car bombs, landmines turned to distillery explosions, mustard gas reformed into assassination mickeys.

He couldn't lose his lost brother again.

* * *

Late one evening, when Thor was still sleepless, perusing Loki's small library in the sitting room, he heard a strange noise at the front door. There was a peculiar bit of thumping, and a lot of scritching sounds of metal against metal. He thought it was a burglar, and moved to find a particularly heavy statuette of Hermes Loki had on a side table before creeping into the front entryway. The door finally swung open, and Thor, about to swing the figurine down, stopped short. It was his brother, doubled over, hair and clothes disheveled and blood dripping thick down his left arm. Thor let the statuette clamor to the floor, surely leaving a dent in the hardwood, before rushing to his brother's side.

"Loki! What happened?"

"Forget about me for a second," Loki hissed, "Wipe the blood off the door before it dries, quickly!"

Thor did as he was told, and as he mopped up the last of it and closed the door, he heard Loki's strained voice from the kitchen, telling him to bolt it and turn off the lights.

"What _happened_?" Thor repeated again as he stepped into the kitchen. Loki was leaning against the table, trying to remove his clothes. On autopilot, Thor ripped the sleeves off his shirt, jacket, and coat in one fell movement.

"I've been shot-you oaf," Loki said through gritted teeth, "Those were expensive,"

"And I'm sure they weren't already ruined with your blood," Thor retorted mechanically, moving to get some dishtowels.

"Mn, get the first aid kit. Bathroom-" Loki cut off as he tried to touch his wound, reeling back at the sensation, "S-second shelf."

Thor ran, bumping into doorways and knocking things over as he went. When he returned to the kitchen, Loki was lying back on the table, chest heaving and face pale.

"Good," Loki breathed as Thor reappeared, face relaxing visibly, "Now, there should be a-" Another sharp intake of breath as he removed the blood-soaked rag from his arm, "A syringe of morphine-Ah!" He pressed a clean towel to his injury as Thor rummaged through the small white briefcase, finding a plastic case with a needle and a vial labeled "morphine" inside. "Yes, give it to me," a bead of sweat rolled down the black-haired man's face as he extended his hand. Thor clumsily put the two parts together and handed it over. Pushing the plunger slightly to expel any air bubbles, Loki proceeded to jam the needle into his left forearm, vein already protruding, and empty the drug into his bloodstream. His muscles all immediately relaxed, and he took a shuddering breath.

"Alright, Thor, now I need you to take the bullet out."

"_What_?"

"Well, we can't leave it in, can we, now? Don't worry, I'll help you."

"Can't we just go to a hospital?"

"No, Thor, we have to do it here. You have to. Help me." Loki pulled himself up on his good arm, leaning up against the wall and motioning Thor to come around to his left side. After rooting around in the first aid kit, he pulled out a pair of forceps and a long metal rod. Thor nearly gagged.

"Oh, I really don't think I can-" Thor lurched away, before coming back again, "I have a friend who's a nurse, she can-"

"Thor, I've lost too much blood already. We need to get it out immediately." Thor looked away again, then glanced back at his brother's pale eyes, screwed nearly shut in pain. "Please, I need you."

Grabbing the forceps, he took a deep breath and set his face. "Okay, tell me what to do."

Loki resituated his arm to give him a better angle, "Can you see the bullet?"

"Yes-" Thor finally looked clearly and directly at the mangled, bleeding wound and nearly threw up, "Yes, I can."

"You're going to need to get the forceps around it," Loki breathed, color still slowly draining from his face, "Securely, and just pull it out."

"That's it?"

"That's it. On my mark." Loki grabbed his bloodied, torn shirtsleeves from the counter and stuffed them into his mouth, using his fingers and mumbling a countdown from three. Thor took a few deep, noisy breathes and jabbed the instrument in. Loki's entire body shivered, and a loud grunt escaped from the pit of his chest. The blonde man looked into the other's eyes, wondering if he was meant to stop. Opening his eyes a fraction, Loki nodded him on and Thor continued, ignoring his brothers noises of pain until he felt the metal was finally around the bullet. Gently, gently, he pulled it out, praying his hands not to shake too badly, until the it was completely out.

Throwing them haphazardly aside, he reached across to pull out antiseptic and some gauze and bandages. He dumped the foul liquid over the wound and the gauze, bring one to the other and keeping pressure, despite his brother's hissing protests. Until he was doubly sure the bleeding had stopped, he wrapped the white bandage around his brother's bicep meticulously. As Thor stepped away, Loki threw his head back and sighed, then burst into high laughter.

"You did it, Thor." he smiled, raising his good hand to beckon his brother closer, "I knew you could,"

Thor began laughing as well, nerves coming down from their heightened alert as his brother wrapped an arm around him. The blonde man was about to pull away from the strange embrace when there was a loud pounding at the door. Loki stiffened, locking his brother to him.

"Keep absolutely quiet," he barely whispered, voice as tense as his tendons, "You did turn the lights out, didn't you?"

Thor nodded, and gulped in fear as they heard angry voices at the door, mixed with more violent knocking. They stayed rigid in silence until well after the knocking subsided. Loki sighed again, pulling his right arm away, but Thor still stayed close.

"What was that?" he implored, searching his brother's eyes for an explanation. Loki turned away, pretending to be more interested in divesting the scraps of his bloodied clothing,

"There are..." he paused, "many things I haven't told you about."

"Like what?" Thor drew back, trying to look his brother in the eyes again.

"Tell me, Thor," Loki finally turned towards him, "Do you love me?"

Taken aback by the abruptness of it, Thor didn't have an immediate answer.

"When I walked in here, when you saw the blood, what was the first thing you thought?"

Thor drew a measured breath, "Please, God, do not let my brother die. Not after I have gotten him back. I can't lose him again." Loki had stood, shakily and walked closer to his brother, faces only a few small inches apart.

"Then tell me, Thor, if I had died," he inhaled quickly, "What would you have wished you'd have told me while I was still alive?"

"I..." Thor didn't want to re-imagine a world where his brother was dead, but memories would not be stopped because of mere wants, "I would tell you- no, I would show you how much you meant to me," at this, he wrapped his small arms around his smaller brother, "I would hold onto you and never let you go again. I would go back, to the day I left for the war, and just hold you and not let you leave me ever again."

"I was thinking the exact same thing, when I was trying to get back here," Loki shuddered, holding back a sob, "That I didn't want to lose you again, and all the things I still had to say to you..." he trailed off, tears slowly sliding over his cheeks, "So, I'll ask again," pausing once more for breath, "do you love me?"

"Yes!" Thor said, sounding slightly startled, "I love you more than anyone or anything else in the world. You are my brother."

Having started to return the embrace, Loki tried to pull away. "But I am not your brother."

"It doesn't matter. I love you like one. I love you more than any other brother in the whole world."

"But-" Loki started, voice shaky with tears, "But I love you differently, Thor."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. Oh, yes, it does," Loki was quieter now, and the sound of shame had crept into his tone.

"Then I will change my love, if it matters so much," Thor chuckled, "What does it need to become?"

Loki pulled back from Thor's now slack arms, looking straight into his bright blue eyes, before lids slid shut over his green ones and his face moved forward and up. Their lips pressed together, and Thor stiffened, eyes wide. Loki did not stir, and Thor relaxed slowly, moving one hand to cup the back of his not-brother's head through black, sweat-slicked hair. It felt like an eternity before they had to break for breath. The smaller man avoided the others eyes, until he finally willed up the courage to speak again.

"It must become that," Loki breathed, the truth of what he'd just done dawning on him. Be it the shock of getting shot, the loss of blood making him lightheaded, the relief at being alive, he didn't know what spurned his actions. He finally forced himself to look at his not-brother.

"Loki..." Thor's face softened, brushing his fingers along the smaller man's face, "It already has."


	4. Chapter 4: secrets

Loki fainted.

Thor barely managed to catch him, holding him precariously before scooping him carefully into his arms bridal-style. He walked as smoothly and quickly as possible into Loki's bedroom, setting the unconscious man down fastidiously. After checking that his not-brother was breathing correctly and his heartbeat wasn't erratic, the elder man slipped into the master bathroom, splashing tap water unceremoniously over his haggard face. Toweling his face dry, he finally took a long look at himself in the mirror. He felt gritty and sweaty, his hair and clothes were bedraggled and he was caked in a fair amount of his brother's drying blood.

He drew a bath, sighing, stripped and threw his clothes in the trash-bin before slipping into the warm water. He took a bar of soap and a small loofah, as his brother had called it, and began scrubbing the grime off his skin. The water turned a pastel shade of red-brown as Thor recounted the night's events. _Loki was shot, yes, but we took care of that-and then he kissed me, but-but I also took a bullet out of someone's arm oh my god. Well he's safe now, so it's fine. He told me to clean the door and turn out the lights, didn't he? And then-the banging on the door. Oh no._

He ripped the plug out of the drain and nearly slipped propelling himself out of the tub. Drying off quickly, he realized he hadn't brought a change of clothes in with him. There was a bathrobe on a hook on the inside of the tiny linen closet, so he put that on and walked out into the bedroom again. It was dark, and the bathroom light fixtures provided the only light into the bedroom. Loki was still flat on his back, breath shallow and sleep-like. Thor calmed at the sight, and crossed over to his not-brother's slumbering form.

Thor hadn't realized how much his brother had aged until it all melted off in sleep. He had had such dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks had hollowed of their baby fat, leaving prominent cheekbones and a sharp jaw in their wake. Laugh lines, scowl lines, wrinkles from the furrowed brow-all gone now. Thor brushed his hand along his brother's cheek, reveling in the softness of the skin there. Without thinking, he lowered his head, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his not-brother's mouth, and another to his forehead. As he drew back, green eyes fluttered open, reminding Thor that his brother was wiser than his years, that he had probably seen or experienced or caused more than his fair share of suffering and understood it well, through those green eyes.

"Thor..." Loki seemed to have forgotten quite how to speak, and connecting the sensation of lips pressed tenderly to his flesh to his brother before him, he shot up, forgetting the bullet hole in his arm, only to be reminded by the pain the shot through him as he placed too much of his weight on it. "Ah!" He flinched, and Thor started for him.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's fine..." Loki inspected the dressings, confident he hadn't reopened the wound, "Thor..." Loki glanced up, a red flush finding its way up to his cheeks, "Did we...?"

"Oh, no, brother, you merely fainted," Thor smiled.

"Fainted?" Loki looked slightly puzzled, brows knit, "Oh, yes, of course, from all the blood loss."

"Right," Thor chuckled. Loki silenced him with a mean look and a sharp jab to the arm. The blonde man chortled for a bit longer, then his face turned serious. "Loki, about those men at the door-"

"They won't be back until tomorrow evening. Tonight is too far gone for them to try anything else safely."

"But what were they here for?"

"Like I said before, Thor, I'm one of the most wanted men in America, and not just by the police." He slipped his legs out of bed, heaving himself upright.

"What did you do?"

"Crimes." Loki shrugged.

"I'm serious, Loki," Thor took hold to his skinny wrist, "No more secrets, no more lies. You almost died tonight. I almost lost you."

"And I you," Loki retorted, "Look, what I did isn't important right now. What is is getting out of here. They're going to come back again tomorrow evening and they'll break down the door if we don't open it this time."

"So what do we do? Leave?"

"You catch on fast," Loki smirked, beginning to remove his clothes from his wardrobe, "We'll need clothes, most of the valuables, much everything else is expendable."

"Leave where?" Thor questioned, finally rising to his feet.

"Out of the country, definitely. Canada, first, then to Europe, probably Scotland, or France..."

"Europe? Oh my god, Loki, I can't-"

"Yes, you can. I've pissed off the wrong people, Thor, and Europe probably won't be far enough, anyways-"

"What did you do, Loki?"

"I told you, it's not-" Loki was cut off as Thor took him by the shoulders and planted his mouth firmly onto the other's. The larger man waited until the smaller stopped squirming to let go.

"Oh. Oh, my."

"Oh my, indeed. I'll make you a bargain, one secret for every kiss." Thor smirked.

"I'd have thought you'd price my secrets higher than that, brother..." Loki leaned in again, only to be held back by Thor's arms.

"No, no, no, secret first, before another."

"They were _Cosa Nostra_, Italian." Loki grumbled before Thor kissed him again, prodding his mouth open with his tongue only to pull away when Loki parted his lips.

"And?"

"And," Loki inhaled indignantly, "My gang may have...encroached on their booze territory," Thor kissed him, with tongue for real this time, before drawing back. "They were obviously angry, and this wasn't the first time we'd c-crossed paths," His breath hitched as Thor gently pushed his knee between the slighter man's thighs, _but not high enough_, Loki thought as he continued, "so they-" silenced by another deep kiss, "they put out a hit on me,"

"A hit?" Thor drew back, sensibility trying to reign in control of his lust. Its efforts were shattered as Loki drove forward again, silencing his protests with another kiss.

"Mm, yes, but that was a week ago," Loki pecked at his not-brother again, lips moving away from the other's mouth and slowly up towards his ear, "It was the Genoveses who finally got to me tonight," he gently sucked on the blonde man's earlobe, eliciting a small moan. Smirking, he continued, "They weren't very skilled, obviously, so probably not higher-ups, also derived from the fact that they didn't stick around at the door very long."

Thor wondered how his brother could keep a legitimate narrative going while his own head was swimming. He managed to maneuver them back onto the bed, pinning Loki down beneath him. Apparently the smaller man had no qualms with this, continuing to ravage Thor's jaw and neck with butterfly kisses.

"But they'll be back, like I said, with people from the rest of the Five-The Five Families," Loki fell silent as Thor began to suck at the crook of his neck, then all the way down and across his left collarbone.

"I thought you had a lot of the mafia under your thumb," Thor managed to say in between heady gasp of breath.

"Yes and no," Loki chuckled, "Those Italians do take family loyalty very seriously," his voice rose an octave on the last few syllables as Thor pressed their lower halves together, both gasping at the delightful friction. "Also, I think I've been losing my touch, _brother_," Thor shuddered at the word, as it reminded him of how even more forbidden what they were doing really was, "You're just so..." Loki wrapped one thin leg up around his not-brother's lower back, then the other, "distracting," he cooed into Thor's ear, hot breath and tainted words pushing the larger man farther into a frenzy.

Thor pulled back for a quick moment, removing his brother's pants and undergarments, then shimmying out of the bathrobe he had on. In the time it had taken him, Loki had managed to retrieve the small vial of oil from his bedside table drawer.

"Do this often, brother?" Thor smirked as he took it and popped the lid open, spreading a generous amount over his fingers.

"Not really," Loki teased, "But it never hurts to be prepared." Thor only growled in response, pressing his index finger to his not-brother's tight ring of muscle, circling but never breaching.

"Oh, just do it already," Loki scowled, flush high on his cheeks and lust heavy in his eyes.

"I need another secret, brother," Thor crowed, moving his head up to hover above Loki's.

"Kisses before secrets, I thought," Loki punctuated his sentence with a maddening kiss, "You're not going back on your word, are you?" He pouted, lips swollen and face red from their ministrations.

Thor let loose a feral growl, capturing his little not-brother's mouth while pushing one large finger inside him inelegantly. Loki buckled, overcome by the sensation before relaxing enough for Thor to squeeze in a second digit. Scissoring slowly, Thor relished in all of the breathy little moans and arches of his back his brother offered in return. The third finger slid in, and Thor began to stroke, mesmerized by how easily he could influence the man below him. Loki readjusted himself, nails scoring down his brothers back as he bid him to take the real prize.

Drawing back, he readied himself to take his wanton, panting brother, aligning himself carefully. "Ready?" he managed to ask, through his lust-addled brain.

"Oh," Loki rolled his hips, bringing his right hand up to his face and brushing his fingers against his lips, "_Ready_."

Thor roared, pressing forward and sheathing himself to the hilt. Loki cried, and his entire back rose from the mattress. After waiting for Loki to relax a bit, Thor started moving, a steady rhythmic pace at first, but as his own desire was fueled by Loki's gasps and moans, his strokes became harder, faster, more erratic, until stars exploded in his vision, white, ecstatic blankness wrapped around his entire being.

When Thor briefly came to his senses, he had pulled out and now lied the correct way on the bed, face down, sweaty, and still panting. Loki was still in his former position, chest still expanding and contracting through the effects of his own orgasm. After a few more moments of composure-regaining, he sat up, meaning to head into the bathroom, but Thor caught his wrist again.

"No, stay," he murmured into the soft pillow.

"I can't," Loki pulled free, and Thor slipped into unconsciousness again.

* * *

When Thor awoke again, the room was barren and the sun hung high in the sky. He flipped onto his back and pulled himself up to rest the back of his shoulders against the headboard. As the memories of the night before slowly streamed through his head, he sighed heavily and rested his forehead on his hand.

"Good morning," Loki's voice was a small thing to cut the silence.

"Loki, I'm sorry-"

"I've reconsidered," Loki cut him off, staring straight ahead but not seeing, "You're staying here."

"I am?" Thor swung out of bed, momentarily embarrassed he was still naked before spotting the change of clothes Loki had placed at the foot of the bed, "What about you?"

"I'm going to stay with an old friend, alone, until the Five Families think I'm dead or not worth it." Loki explained calmly. Thor began to protest, but Loki raised his voice to cut him off, "It's safer for you to stay here. I've arranged everything with your old landlord-"

"Loki, no-" Thor had crossed the room and gripped Loki's shoulders, forgetting he was injured until he let out a strangled howl. Thor stepped back immediately, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, the morphine's worn off," Loki replied through gritted teeth, waiting for the pain to subside.

"See? That's why I have to come with you-"

"No, it's exactly why you're _not_," Loki scowled, "This is serious, Thor, I lost three men last night and nearly died myself," he admitted, looking down as his voice faltered, "I'm not letting you throw your life away for me,"

"Loki, if I died for your sake it would be a worthy death," Thor cupped the smaller man's cheek, "The worthiest death I could ever have."

"Don't say that," Loki breathed, still avoiding Thor's eyes, "Deaths can't be worthy, or unworthy, they're just deaths. You don't have a choice, it's all been arranged."

"Look, if it's about last night," Thor suddenly felt guilty about last night's happenings, "About...what we did, you can't run away from your problems."

"First of all, that's not a problem to me, not at all, and second, retreat is the best option in this-it's the _only_ option, Thor, they'll kill me, they'll do worse than just killing me-" Loki stopped for breath, summoning his courage to say his next sentence, "I lied last night, I didn't just encroach on their territory, they wouldn't be doing this for that-no, Thor, we-" He swallowed thickly, "I killed their boss's daughter."

"What?"

"Yes..." Loki pressed his forehead against Thor's shoulder, "It was a big risk, and I was overconfident. We kidnapped her right out of their front yard in broad daylight, and we intended to use her as a hostage, but," he drew a shaky breath, "Negotiations turned sour, and I-"

"You don't have to say it," Thor tightened his arms around his little brother.

"I shot her in cold blood," Loki sounded hollow and dead. They stood still for a short while, Thor murmuring ineffective condolences.

"I've made a huge mistake, Thor," Loki finally drew back, looking his brother in the eyes, "And now that we know we're together, that we're okay, I-" he shrunk again, clutching helplessly to Thor's back, "I'm not going to lose you for it. Never."

"Never," Thor repeated.

"So that's why I need to go. And that's why you can't come with me."

"No, I told you, Loki, I'm not letting go of you again," Thor squared his shoulders resolutely, "I don't care what you've done or how much it costs you. I love you."

A single tear rolled down Loki's face, and he whispered,

"Alright."


	5. Chapter 5: trash

It was late in the afternoon by the time Thor and Loki were able to steal away from the penthouse. Laid down with three trunks filled with clothing and valuables, they took an unmarked car, hired by Loki, over into Brooklyn, to Thor's old apartment building. There they were to wait while Loki's men finalized their arrangements. Thor's room had been rented, so they had to make base in a relatively large storage closet down the hall.

"You can visit your friends, if you want," Loki said. They were seated, propped against trunks, in the May heat in the tiny, un-ventilated room. Loki himself was rendered nearly useless, the pain from his bullet wound near-debilitating, and they couldn't get their hands on any morphine at the moment. Sweat dripped down his furrowed brow as he tried to concentrate through the dull ache.

"No," Thor murmured, not really registering what Loki had said, "I should stay here."

"Well," Loki moved to stand, balancing himself on his good arm then pushing up. The action took more of a toll on him than it should have, but he hid it well. "I'm going to take a phone call." He shuffled out of the room before Thor could protest or try to join him. He slowed his pace as he walked towards the stairs down to the ground floor. Every movement seemed to jostle his left arm in all the wrong ways, and the pain kept growing harder to ignore. On the landing halving the staircase, he had to lean against the wall to catch his breath, eyes screwing shut through the intensity of the agony. The small part of his consciousness that could still process thought silently remarked; _how am i supposed to protect my brother if I can't even handle myself?_

* * *

An uncounted amount of minutes after Loki left for the telephones, there was a knock at the door. Thor assumed it was his brother or Selvig, but opened it with the alertness he had adopted since Loki had come home shot. He placed a hand over the pistol tucked neatly into the back of his pants as the door swung open to reveal Darcy and Jane.

"Thor!" Jane exclaimed.

"We thought you were in here," Darcy added, barging her way in. Thor moved his hand out from behind his back and under his untucked shirt.

"Did Dr. Selvig tell you?" Thor eyed them levelly

"Yes, and no," Darcy surveyed the environment, "But we would've figured it out on our own, anyways."

"Are you alright?" Jane cut to the chase.

"Yeah, are you hiding from that gangster?" Darcy questioned. Thor tried to remain calm, he knew Loki hadn't told Selvig or any other in the apartment complex the exact circumstances of their stay,

"What gangster?"

"Your..." Jane began

"Your 'brother,'" Darcy air-quoted the last word, "aka, the most dangerous criminal on the Eastern seaboard. That John D.'s got more baggage than a passenger train and most of it's got a nastier bite than the B of I!"

"That's my _brother_ you're talking about, Darcy, and I'd appreciate it-" Thor's voice grew angrier.

"Thor, that's not what she meant," Jane, ever the mediator, spoke up, "Look, we're just worried about you. We've heard the rumors, that Laufeyson-"

"Rumors are just that," Thor spat, "Rumors."

"But, Thor, we were listening to the news yesterday, and-"

"He's got a price on his head larger than the ocean from both sides of the law. He's _bad_ news." Darcy interjected, motioning wildly.

"They said he killed some poor girl, Thor, and they say he's been involved with a lot of other terrible murders and robberies," Jane stared him down with a look of utmost sincerity, "I'm not saying it's not your decision, but..." she paused, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on his arm, "Just don't trust him too much, Thor. I have a feeling he hasn't been telling you everything, and I don't want you getting hurt."

Jane had voiced all of Thor's own nagging doubts perfectly well. Loki was always shifty and spotty when it came to details about his 'work,' and he'd even lied last night, when they were...

"I..." Thor breathed deeply, head swimming in new, frantic uncertainty, "I suppose you have a point,"

"Of course we do," Darcy chimed, giving him a quick hug. Thor smiled down at her and Jane before glancing up to see his brother in the doorway, a look of disgust and betrayal painting his features. The raven-haired man took off down the hallway, not caring about the pain shooting up through his arm.

Shaking off the girls, Thor followed him, though he had a later start and Loki was already out of sight.

"What is it, Thor?" Jane asked, noting the frenzied look on his face, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Thor sprinted down the corridor, "Don't follow me."

"That means follow him," Darcy started after the man, but Jane caught her by the sleeve.

"No, Darcy, I think he needs his privacy more than ever."

* * *

"Loki, wait!" Thor rushed down the hall, not caring how loudly he was shouting. As he approached the stairwell, he heard a door slam above him. Barreling up the stairs, he reached the roof exit, observing the misplaced dust and the broken lock, testament to recent use after long being ignored. He threw it open, running out into the center and turning frantically. The sun hung low and the shadows of all the buildings around him played tricks on his eyes. He spotted his brother, finally, huddled in a corner, making himself scarce.

"Brother!" Thor called as he came closer.

"Don't call me that!" Loki spat, voice and expression full of acid.

"Loki, then," Thor knelt beside him.

"Not even that."

"Then what?" Thor trembled, "What should I call you?"

"Criminal, perhaps?" Loki mocked, "Untrustworthy? Dangerous? Murderer?" He shrieked, glaring daggers into his not-brother.

"No," Thor replied, "No, I'll call you lover, for it eclipses all your other names."

"Even liar?" Loki questioned, "Monster? Coward? Trash? Scum?"

"Who would even call you those names?" Thor was taken aback.

"Father did," Loki said calmly, "He was particularly fond of 'bastard,' when you and Mother weren't around."

Thor was stunned. "For how long?" he managed to ask after a good while.

"For as long as I can remember."

Thor could only hold Loki close, and they silently sat together, watching the late spring sun get devoured by the horizon. Time moved too quickly in after thought but creeped slowly in the moment, as Loki's chest slid up and down in Thor's arms, Thor's own breath whispering in his ears.

"I think it's better if you don't come along."

* * *

Thor awoke the next morning to find all three trunks gone from their storage room-home. In their place was a note.

"I won't tell you where I'm going. There will be someone around every few weeks to check up on you for me. Selvig has new arrangements for you. -L" On the flip side, it read a simple "Sorry," but Thor didn't feel it was even sincere. He didn't really feel anything for some time after that.

He felt like he had a hangover as he remembered the past evening's events, a strange mist shrouding them and protecting them from Thor's touch. He remembered coming down from the roof in silence, passing into their closet-room and locking the door behind them. He remembered his not-brother not wasting any words and just sidling up to him, kissing him with a sweet, passionate depravity.

Two lovers' last night together.

Thor wanted to take it as slowly as possible, to make it last, but Loki made love with a sense of urgency, like the other person would abandon him at any moment, find him not worth the trouble, or come to their senses, and leave him. They undressed each other, article by article of clothing, until they stood naked and glued together against the thin door. The slighter man eventually began sucking a bruise onto the juncture of Thor's neck and shoulder, and Thor did the same along his collarbone. Less noticeable, more private, he thought, as Loki pulled away and knelt on the floor, facing away from his not-brother and pressing his cheek against the frigid concrete, his ass high in the air behind him as he rummaged though his jacket pocket for the lube he had managed to take from his drawer earlier. Coating his fingers in the slick, he readied himself, put on a display for Thor. Thor took the time to stroke himself to full hardness, greatly appreciating the man's actions before him.

"Ready," Loki eventually breathed as he pulled his fingers away, bidding Thor to kneel down and position himself. Loki was on his forearms now, gritting his teeth as the larger man slowly entered him. He felt like he was being torn in half, like he was letting someone know every part of him, and while it scared him, he adored the danger, adored the rush, adored Thor, in all his luminescence. Thor had always been the light to his darkness, the honesty to his deceit, the good despite his bad. Something Loki didn't think he deserved but felt empty without.

Thor moved, forward and back and forward and back and forward again; a cycle, a constancy. Thor was the constant sun, always a beacon burning bright and warming all that he touched, and Loki was the moon, waxing and waning and pulling tides of grief from and away.

The Moon could not shine without the Sun, but the Sun would not grieve the Moon's absence. Therefore, if Loki was the Moon, then he could definitely disappear. And he resolved, hard as the concrete pressing back relentlessly on his knees and elbows, that he would make it as painless as possible for his Sun.

* * *

His new room was a floor up from his original one, which meant Jane and Darcy's visitations dwindled. Thor was left alone.

Slowly and steadily, he sunk again. He took a job as a clerk at a store down the block. He also was wired money every month, presumably from Loki, but of course there was no sender, no address, no name. The two incomes alone weren't enough to get by, but combined Thor lived comfortably.

Months eked by torturously, the dichotomy of a_t least I know Loki is alive, but I am not with him_ eating away steadily at him. His only link to Loki, aside from the mysterious money, was the strange man with six fingers on each hand (it took Thor a few meetings to notice) who showed up at his doorstep exactly every three weeks, exactly at noon, with the exact same questions: "Did you receive this month's money, are you eating three meals a day, on a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?" He never had any answers except to one question; "Is Loki alive?" and that answer was always "Yes." He never stuck around for tea, never let slip his name, just collected his three answers, deposited his one, then left again, reappearing three weeks later.

And every single time Thor heard that knock right at noon every three weeks, he dreaded that singular answer would change to 'no.'

* * *

Jane had decided, for the first week or so, that Thor was best left alone. Eventually, she began trying to visit him, bringing leftovers from her and Darcy's meals or sweets she'd tried to bake him on her off-time. He accepted them gracefully, as always, but never divulged any substantial information. Jane knew that patience was key. She sat by, a clear, compassionate, supportive force, but she didn't overstep her bounds, never. She knew he would seek help when he was ready.

Eventually, he did. May had melted into the hot summer, and as the leaves fell from the trees as autumn recessed into the brittle chill of winter, the walls around Thor's heart fell just enough to let her in. He was lonely, so very alone, and Jane was his oldest friend in his new life.

He tried to push away his past again, defense mechanisms in his mind rationalizing and excusing his decisions, like bubblegum laid over the giant cracks in a massive stone dam to try and stop the flood. He had only shared two nights in love with Loki, and his brother had left him anyways. His brother, who was "missing, presumed deceased," for three years before Thor had to find him himself. His brother, who cheated and lied, manipulated and stole and corrupted. His brother, who wasn't even his brother, who flew from him so many times, only reluctantly coming back if he needed something, or if there was no other choice. His lying, sneaking, not-brother, not-lover, who smashed his heart into a billion shards twice and never once apologized.

Thor cut the love for him from his battered heart, and labelled it "missing, presumed dead," and left it to rot in some dark, decrepit cave inside of him on a midwinter eve.

* * *

It was January 1924, and Loki received a phone call, just after twelve-noon.

"I have bad news." The other voice said, no greetings or questions.

"Yes?" Loki steadied his voice, mind jumping to the worst conclusions every time he heard that voice on the phone anyways.

"He didn't let me in. He just told me on the doorstep that he didn't want your help or concern any more." Loki couldn't speak. It was like an icy hand had wrapped around his entire chest, and squeezed all the blood, breath, and feeling out of him.

"That's very bad news indeed." He managed to choke out eventually, voice cracking, before he hung up the phone.

Bracing a shaking hand against the table, he announced to himself,

"I knew you should have come along."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This is the sort-of end to sort-of part 1. I'm going to be M.I.A. from writing/uploading for 2 weeks, as well, so don't freak out that I'm not updating. Thanks for reading so far, thanks for all the kind reviews, and I'll see you soon!


	6. Chapter 6: forget

Winter was swept away by spring's rain, but not before Thor could starting courting Jane Foster. They continued on as a couple, Jane always busy at her job, but Thor never in a rush. She was just a few months away from being a real, bona fide doctor, and he admired her so much. Never in his whole life had he met someone so dedicated to caring for others; it was incredibly endearing and so drastically different from the severe laws of his childhood, his always-cold father, somewhat distant mother, and ever-changing not-brother.

His not-brother. It seemed nigh-impossible for Loki to not step through his mind at least once daily, through dreams or half-formed thoughts drifting on a sour-smelling breeze through his head, or, occasionally, long, critical tangents, where Thor analyzed his not-brother's behavior, and words, and tried to assign more meanings or motivations that were already there. These clouds could shadow over his head for hours.

But he rarely thought of Loki when he was with Jane-she was like a brighter star, burning to catch all his attention and send his not-brother slinking back into his well-earned shadows. Summer caught them apart, with Jane cramming hospital shifts and studying sessions in tightly in a very real hope she could be an M. D. before Christmas. Thor occupied his time with his new job-a floor manager at a shop called Macy's. His quietly busy job and the subway rides to and fro during the work week kept him occupied, and his small weekends with Jane kept him elated.

Thor convinced himself that the shedding of Loki was, perhaps, the best decision he had ever made.

But the unfortunate reality of "convincing" yourself of anything most often means that the thing was never true.

* * *

"Jane," It was a crisp, cold Saturday autumn evening, 1924, and they were returning from a date, "You're not going anywhere for Thanksgiving, are you?"

"Oh, no," Jane replied, "I'll be working that whole week, with only the actual Thursday off,"

"Good," Thor smiled warmly, "Then will you accompany me to the parade?"

"Parade?"

"Macy's Christmas Parade," Thor explained, "The first of it's kind. We're hoping it takes off, and we've been planning for so long." Everyone at the Herald's Square store was involved somehow, and although Thanksgiving wasn't a holiday near and dear to his heart, the prospect of it enticed him all the same.

"Okay, sounds fun. It's a date." They rounded the corner into their brick apartment building, Thor depositing Jane at her door with a quick peck before walking up to his. He never noticed the man, swathed in dark clothes, that had followed them for half their date and then back up to his room.

* * *

It was frigid, so early in the morning, as Thor and Jane walked down the quiet streets towards the noise of the crowds gathered on 34th street. Using his large stature, Thor was able to muscle his way up to the barriers with Jane swiftly following behind. They arranged themselves to get the best view and waited on bated breath until the first of the moving attractions came into view. Wonder sparkled in Jane's eyes, (but not so much in Thor's, as he had seen or heard of most of the floats before the actual event,) and they were enchanted by the displays and the dancers and the huge throngs of people that had turned up to watch as well.

As the last floats moved away, and Santa Claus was crowned upon his high balcony, the crowds dispersed. Hands interlocked, Thor and Jane meandered around downtown Manhattan for a bit before boarding the subway, both sets of feet complaining from all the standing and walking.

"You have the whole day off," Thor started, finally peeling off his mittens and flexing his cold fingers, "Would you care to spend it with me?" He flashed a sheepish grin at the woman beside him.

"Of course! But could we spend it inside? It's so cold out, and most of the stores are closed, anyways," Jane said.

"Yes, you're right," Thor needed some well-earned rest and recuperation, now that the parade he and others had worked so hard on had at long last come to fruition, "Should we invite Erik or Darcy?"

"Erik's out of town, unfortunately, and Darcy's going over to Queens later tonight to have dinner with her family."

"So, we'll have the apartment to ourselves, then?" Another flashy smile.

"Yes," Jane giggled.

They arrived home, and Darcy was there, waiting for them.

"Jane, the hospital called the party-line," She called from the other room, walking out to greet them (the apartment had one telephone set, and it was manned by complex's telegraph boy, who took messages and telegraphs for the whole residency.)

"Oh, what did they want?" Jane asked, beginning to remove her heavy coat.

"They needed you to come in an hour ago," Darcy explained, still in her bathrobe, apparently not planning on going outside for much longer, "They said they was in a real jam, and they knew you weren't going out of town today."

"Oh, _what_?" Jane grumbled, reversing her divesting, "You can't be serious."

"Don't shoot the messenger, lady," Darcy put her palms out in a defensive gesture, "Get a wiggle on, Janey, the sick and helpless of the city _need_ you."

Jane glared daggers at her, then turned to Thor, "I'm really sorry..." She checked her watch quickly, "Look, it's two o'clock now, they'll probably keep me for a six hour shift-or maybe shorter, if I can get out of there early, so we can...postpone this until ten?"

"Absolutely," Thor smiled, though upset that their plans had changed, he was glad he'd get to spend a little time with her, "a late Thanksgiving feast?"

"A really, really late Thanksgiving feast," They were both moving out the door, Jane still arranging her scarf, "So...that's okay?"

"Most definitely. I'll pick up some ingredients before you get back."

"Oh, that would be _perfect_," Jane pushed up onto her tip-toes to give Thor a quick peck on the cheek, "Thank you so much, I'll see you at ten," and then she was off down the hallway.

"So, Egg," Darcy was still in the doorway, staring at Thor, "I got two hours to kill 'til I gotta go see my folks. Why not beat our gums for a while?"

* * *

"You're really _that_ goofy over Jane?" Darcy asked over her third glass of liquor, (years spent partying in the dark grimy underworld of NYC had turned her into a drinking _machine_.)

"_Really_," Thor was only three-quarters done with his first, but it was enough to make him a little lightheaded, "I'm actually considering asking her..." _to marry me_. But Thor wasn't sure if he should be spilling all his secrets to Jane's roommate over a bottle of illegal booze.

"You're gonna handcuff her?" Darcy asked. Thor nearly spat out his drink all over her, and his shocked facial expression was enough for her to glean his response from, "I meant, get engaged, dirty bird."

"Oh," Thor calmed down, but didn't answer right away. Impatience spread over Darcy's face as she pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow, coaxing an answer, "Yes, I-" he took another sip, for courage, "I've already got the ring."

"Wow. _Wow_." Darcy whistled in awe, "Gotta hand it to you, stiff, you got moxy. _Guts_." She gesticulated like a prized fighter, spilling some of her drink on herself. Thor laughed. "Oh, dry up, these are my best glad rags, now I probably gotta change." Thor only laughed harder, finishing his licquor and pouring himself a second glass.

After vigorously dabbing at the stain with a wadded-up napkin, Darcy finally conceded defeat, standing and walking towards her bedroom. Thor followed languidly, drink in hand and flush high on his cheeks.

"Uh, excuse me, pillowcase, but a lady is changing here," Luckily, she hadn't actually started yet, but Thor just turned his back and sipped the strong alcohol, "Anyways, you're really serious about Jane, though, right?" Darcy asked after a while.

"Of course," Thor replied, not turning, "When have you known me to jest?"

"Not nearly enough," Darcy groaned, "But if anyone's gonna be my Jane's police-dog, I'm glad it's you," She had finished changing and walked past Thor, patting him on the shoulder.

"I'm not a dog," Thor gave her puzzled look, intensified by the alcohol.

"Fiance," Darcy sighed, plopping back onto the couch.

"I see," Thor answered, "So I have your blessing?"

"Yep!"

"And you won't tell her before hand, will you?" Thor added.

"Mmmm...I ain't so sure about that," Darcy smiled coyly, "Better do it before I get back, I can't guarantee you I won't say anything."

"When _are_ you coming back, then?" Thor asked nervously.

"Tomorrow afternoon." Darcy took a large swig of her drink and smiled maliciously at him, but recognizing that regretful look on his face she re-schooled her expression, "Oh, please, don't flake on me now you finale-hopper, you piker, you _coward_," She spat, "Besides, Thanksgiving ain't exactly a happy holiday for her, but a happy _engagement_ would definitely change that."

"What do you mean?" Thor was intrigued. Jane had never mentioned anything about it to him before. "She always spent it with her parents, just the three of them, but they died a couple years back and every Thanksgiving after that has been a real wreck, and _I'm_ always the one left holding the bag."

"And I'll make it better?"

"You already have! It's only because you said you were gonna spend the day with her that I get to go to Queens tonight," She set her drink down on the table and looked him straight in the eyes, "Look, I ain't supposed to tell _anyone_ about this, but she's crazy about you, Thor. You've been an item for almost a year now, and it was plain on both your faces you liked each other long before then. It's not like she's gonna say no, so what've you got to really lose?"

They sat in silence for a minute, each of Darcy's words ringing clear and true to Thor's heart and mind. He took a long drink.

"All right," He set his glass down heavily and stood.

"All right, what?" Darcy stood as well, stumbling a bit over herself as the alcohol was finally starting to take it's toll on her.

"I'm going to do it, tonight," Thor declared, "I'm going to ask Jane to be my wife."

"Whoopee!" Darcy jumped, both fists in the air, but wobbled on her way down. Thor steadied her reflexively. "I think you're gonna need to call me a dimbox, buddy."

* * *

With Darcy safely seated in the backseat of a taxicab headed to her parent's house, Thor stood outside long after waving goodbye, reflecting on what had just happened. Eventually, not having put on his heavier clothes got to him, he had to go inside. Just as he was going to slip the spare key Darcy had given him before leaving (so he could get back in with the food later, or "set up some romantic mood scenery, wink,") into the lock, he dashed upstairs, searching in his bedside drawer for a little black velveteen box. When he had retrieved it, he popped it open subconsciously.

It was a little thing, bought with his saved wages about a month earlier-a thinnish gold band with one diamond in the middle and two pin-sized diamonds flanking it. He suddenly wondered if she would actually like it, and panicking at the possibility that it wasn't good enough. But he remembered what Darcy shouldn't have told him; Jane was crazy for him. He snapped it shut and sighed in relief, knowing it was just nerves.

He slipped the little thing into his pants pocket and grabbed some extra candles from around his quarters, and whatever Thanksgiving-ish food he had in his cupboard or icebox , and headed down to Jane and Darcy's flat. After setting the candles on the dining room table and the foodstuffs in their cramped fridge, Thor then set out for shopping, wallet fat with his small Thanksgiving bonus (another perk for helping with the parade.)

The shops nearby were closed for the holiday, and Thor had to wander for a good few blocks until he found an open grocer, located ina an unfamiliar part of town. As he was opening the glass-paned door, he glimpsed a figure, dressed in all black, swiftly duck into an alleyway, but he blamed it on a trick of the eyes, or even just nerves, again, and entered the store.

He fingered the little black box in his pocket anxiously as he meandered the short aisles, picking out a smaller turkey, some solid potatoes, some fresh green beans. Not knowing much about cooking or Thanksgiving, he assumed this was enough and headed to the counter. The bored looking cashier, a teenage boy, rung him up in a thick Italian accent. The boy's father ran out as Thor was hefting his brown paper bags to leave.

"Wait!" the older man yelled, "My wife-she's made too much cranberry sauce, no relatives will eat it. You're getting ready for Thanksgiving, no? Take some, take some!"

"Really?" Thor turned back, perplexed at the shop-keep's unwarranted kindness.

"Yes, yes," He beckoned Thor over as he called in Italian to someone in the back, presumably for the cranberry sauce, "It's the least I can do, your brother got me out of trouble a few years ago."

"My brother?" Thor had almost forgotten about Loki amidst all the excitement leading up to the parade, and now to his engagement. His mood turned sour.

"Yes, your brother!" Someone had brought a tub of cranberry sauce to the aging man, and he presented it to Thor.

Before taking it, however, Thor eyed him suspiciously, "Then how do you know me?" He had never been on any of Loki's mob escapades, and he was sure that the man in front of him had to be involved.

"You don't remember? That night, I was getting mugged, and he swooped out of nowhere and beat the tar out of them!"

"And...where was I?" Thor didn't remember ever being along with his not-brother stopping robberies.

"He said it was no trouble and that he had to get back to his brother quickly, and ran down the street to join you. I tried to follow and try to thank him properly, but you were both too fast for poor old me," the man patted his beer belly lovingly, "So I said to myself; 'I must remember these two, to thank them if I ever get the chance again in my life.'"

Satisfied by the explanation enough to take the cranberry sauce, Thor still doubted his not-brother would do anything like that. He couldn't remember any mention of that, but always one for secrets and lies.

"Share some with him, will you?" the Italian yelled as Thor exited the store, tub in hand.

"But he-" Thor stopped short, "Yes, of course," he spared himself the explanation, and the painful spring of memories that would've surely bubbled if he tried to.

He walked back to his apartment complex very somberly after that, forgetting all about Jane and Darcy and his job and Thanksgiving almost entirely.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Sorry for such a short and sort-of boring update; I felt like the two week absence needed to be halted as soon as possible. Sorry, also, for the lack of Loki/abundance of Jane and Darcy in this chapter, it'll change next time. Thank you for reading along so far!


	7. Chapter 7: hurting

It was only 8:30. Thor needed to kill time. He peeled the potatoes, at least that he could do, sitting on a stool kneeling over the trash bin. He washed and snapped the green beans, leaving them neat in a bowl and ready for boiling (he could boil water, but he figured having an open stove-flame in an home that was not his home was too risky for him.)

While rummaging through the bags of food he had bought or brought down, he found the little tub of cranberry sauce. Retaking his seat on the stool by the trash, he turned it over and over, slowly, in his hands, thinking.

Loki had never done something kind of his own volition, out of the good of his own heart. It was either for his own gain, either in the long- or short-run, or not at all. Why would he have saved an old immigrant grocer? Were the muggers from a rival gang? But what good would it have _really_ done him to beat them?

It was cognitive dissonance. Having spent so much time convincing himself that his brother was the root of all evil, a story of selflessness was a sharp slap to the face, being thrown unprepared into ice-cold water. Thor couldn't understand.

The blonde man looked up suddenly, almost-sense of being watched blaring, and his brother stood astutely on the other side of the kitchen. He was dressed to the nines, as usual, but his face was haggard and worn and so tired-looking. Like for the year and a half they'd truly been apart, Loki had aged thrice that.

"_You_," Thor accused before realizing it.

"Yes," the man answered, "It is me."

"Why have you come here?" Thor stood angrily, knocking the bar-stool back onto the tile, "You have taken all my happiness from me twice before, and shame on me for eternity if I let you do it a third time!"

"Thor, please," Loki looked so downtrodden, so melancholic and tired, "I did not come to fight."

"Then our time apart has dulled your idea of me, that you would think that I wouldn't be so angry with you."

"I only meant to keep you safe-"

"You didn't _mean_ anything," Thor silenced him, "I could have been safe _with_ you, you even said so, but you still left! Without even saying goodbye, even."

"It's more complicated than that. Don't you see, Thor? Apart we are so rapt with guilt and sorrow, but when we're together we feel so much-"

"_Don't_ tell me what to feel, Loki!" Thor crossed the room in two powerful strides, looming over his once-brother, his not-brother, his _never_-brother, "I gave you-I was willing to give you everything and you ran _away_. Like you always did," Thor swallowed, all the memories of Loki's flights, from childhood to the present, came pouring in, "Like you always will do."

Thor started.

It was a dream.

He was slumped over the garbage still, holding the tub limply. Turning it once over in his hands, fuming still about his imaginary meeting with his never-brother, he slammed it into the trash. Standing up, now, and chest heaving with unspent rage, he was shaken only when the thud of the wood stool hitting the floor reached his ears. Righting the stool, he glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes to ten.

He walked into the dining room and arranged the candles more nicely, striking a match and lighting them all, strange half-waking dream pushed from his mind as he busied himself with his task. Feeling the little black box a hundred-ton weight in his pocket, he self-consciously checked his appearance in the small hallway mirror. Brushing a few fingers through his hair and straightening his shirt, he finally took a good look at himself. Thor Odinson. He was Thor Odinson. He could do this. He took a deep breath, calming his ever-growing nerves, but the tumblers of the door started clicking and his heartrate skyrocketed again.

"Jane?" He thought to call after a few seconds' shock.

"Thor?" She stepped in and closed the door, rustling out of her winter clothes, "Are you in here?"

"Yes, and I've started cooking," He wasn't entirely lying, he'd prepared the potatoes and the beans for boiling.

"Oh, no-" Jane started, walking quickly into the kitchen but coming up short when she realized he hadn't meant _actual_ cooking, "Thank you."

Thor smiled, his anxieties melting away in her company. They started cooking, Jane having to take the guts of the turkey while Thor watched the vegetables boiling on the tiny stove.

"Wow, we didn't think ahead," Jane sighed as she put the turkey in the oven, finally.

"What?" Thor was licking the spoon he'd used to mash the just-boiled potatoes.

"This turkey's going to take four hours to cook. I should've had Darcy help you when she was still here," Jane sighed, mentally reprimanding herself for forgetting such an elementary Thanksgiving feast fact.

"Well, ah," Thor started, stroking his chin in mock-thought, "We could have all the side dishes now...and have cold turkey in the morning?"

"That sounds fine, I'm _starving_," They'd been cooking for an hour, and Jane had been on her feet, either parade-watching or hospital-working, for a good fourteen hours, at least. They dropped their aprons and gathered all the dishes they could in one trip, heading into the dining room.

"Do you smell burning?" Thor sniffed the air and turned back to check the kitchen, "Did we leave the stove-"

"Thor! The table!" Jane had left the stuffing she was carrying on the side-table and grabbed a magazine to try and smother it out. One of the stubbier candles had burnt for too long and started a fire in the middle of the dining room table. Thor started towards the table, then reconsidered and dashed into the kitchen, taking the now-cooler pot of water they'd used to boil the potatoes. Dashing back, he dumped it haphazardly over the fire and the now-burning magazine in Jane's hand. It fizzled out instantly, and Thor and Jane stared in shocked silence at the scorch-marks and the softly rising steam and smoke. Then they burst into laughter.

"Thor, I appreciate the romantic gesture, but don't _ever_ light candles in my house without supervision," Jane was able to say after a good few minutes of cackling, "Come on, set the food on the table." She moved the stuffing from it's place on the side-table and onto the still-smoking one. Thor stalked back into the kitchen and retrieved the mashed potatoes and green beans and the little bread rolls he had brought from his own pantry.

When he re-entered the dining area Jane was already seated, having relit the still-standing candles and was now staring out the window, one hand propping up her chin. She turned and smiled as he entered her peripheral vision, and Thor felt his heart wobble.

_You can do this, you can do this, you can do this_, was the mantra Thor repeated as they ate dinner.

"I'm stuffed," Thor set down his utensils and leaned back in his chair. He moved his hand into his pocket, fingering the little black box and willing up his courage. _You can do it, yes, you can do it_.

"Yeah, I think we might've-" Jane stopped buttering her last roll and looked up, sniffing the air, "Do you smell burning again?"

Thor jerked his hand out of his pocket and the other reflexively sloshed his glass of water over the candles in between them.

"No, it's coming from the kitchen this time," Jane stood quickly and rushed into the other room, "Oh _no_, the turkey's burning!"

"What? How?" Thor stood as well, "I thought it was going to take hours."

"I did, too, but our oven has been on the fritz lately," Jane turned the knobs on her oven, then opened the door to a plume of black smoke. She started coughing, and asked Thor to get under the sink for their little fire extinguisher. He blasted the foam into the cavity and snuffed out the little flame that had completely scorched most of the turkey.

It was then they noticed the smell.

"Oh, that's _dreadful_," Jane proclaimed as she donned oven-mitts and removed the foamy, crisp turkey carcass from her oven, "Open a window and let that air out, will you? I'll just run this down to the dumpster." She dumped the blackened thing into a black trash-bag and tied it off, walking to the front door.

Thor watched her go, listened to the open and shut of the door as she left, and finally released his breath. He slid the rickety kitchen window open, the blast of cool near-winter air greatly relieving his frayed nerves. He took in a deep breath a fresh air, then took out the black box. He ran his finger once over it's smooth surface, opening it to make sure the ring was still there, then shutting it with a smile smile and tucking it into his large hand. _What a surprise Jane will have,_ he thought, _I'll go straight down on my knee when she walks back in, just blurt it out_.

To stop from pacing or fidgeting, he hunched himself in the window frame, looking out into the little alley below. A sliver of streetlamp light peeked in the narrow opening, only to be swallowed in darkness slowly as it reach the other side. There were two other units towards the street, and three others at the black-end of the alley. At the mouth, two stories below, were the dumpsters. He saw Jane's form pop around the corner and lift the lid, swinging the trash easily inside. There was a loud bang, that Thor assumed the dumpster closing, as he had already turned away to prepare himself for her re-entry. Then he heard a cacophony of hurried footsteps and gruff voices carried on a breeze through the window, then, a few moments later, another bang and a blood-curdling scream.

Thor didn't even need to look, didn't even need to _think_, before he was out the door and down the steps, spilling out into the cold November evening with only one thing on his mind; _Jane_.

The street was deserted. He turned, lightning fast, towards the alley. He didn't see anyone, squinting into the shadows, relief starting to flood into him, that Jane wasn't there and she was okay, but then he heard a whimper. He looked down, and she was sprawled at his feet in a pool of her own dark-red blood.

"Thor..." she called in a painful whisper as he dropped to his knees. The cold concrete bit at him through his trousers like the fear that lanced through his heart and mind and soul.

"Jane?" He managed to say, hands unsure of where to go and merely skittering, floating above her. She tried to cough, feebly, but the pain was too intense and it ended in a shudder.

"Jane." Thor said a little louder this time, finally willing his hands to touch her. She cringed, but smiled at him, weakly.

"Thor," she whispered again, barely above a breath, tears spilling from her eyes

"Wh-what should I do?" He asked, moving one hand to the seeping-red wound on her abdomen, "Pressure?" His tongue had turned to lead, and it felt like his fevered mind had disconnected from his sluggish body.

"No," Jane was able to muster a little more voice this time, but it was so gravelly and distorted, "It's too late. They knew where to shoot."

"No..." Thor trembled, "No, it can't- Jane, I-" he swallowed feebly, sobs and gasped breaths starting to wrack his frame, "They, who were they?"

Jane coughed again, another small smile tugging at her lips, "No, Thor, don't-" a ragged gasp of air, "Don't do that. Don't stay stuck on this."

"Oh, Jane," He gathered he close to him, not caring about the blood staining his clothes.

"Remember, Thor, I-" another shudder of pain shot through her pale body, "I love you."

A single tear slid down her lifeless face, and her heart stopped it's strained beating, and she went limp in Thor's arms.

He swore he screamed for a thousand years.

This part of the underground is large and cavernous and cold as death. Water drips idly through the cracks, and every sound reverberates. The only lights are tiny pinpricks of candle flame and old-fashioned lantern light, all centered on crates used as a table. A man was seated on a smaller crate beside it, legs spread out onto the concrete floor and a book held in his right hand. Footsteps echoed in the abandoned subway tunnel, and the man tensed, looking up from his book but not moving any further.

"Sir!" a voice called; the reading man relaxed.

"What news do you bring me? Please tell me my living arrangements have finally been sorted."

"No, sir, it's much worse than that."

"How so?"

"The girl, sir. We've-" the man that had just entered the tunnel removed his hat and took a deep breath, tiny white clouds billowing outwards in the frigidity, "We've made a huge mistake."

"What about her?" The reading man set down his book, and his face turned stone-like and ungiving. "Some of our men, they-" he gulped, "They shot her."

"And she is dead?" The sitting man asked quietly.

"Yes. He didn't see us, but he found the-"

"_What_ did I tell you?" the sitting man stood, towering over his smaller counterpart, "What was my _one_ direction?"

"Protect Thor, sir," the lower man proffered shakily.

"Not just protect _him_, protect his friends, protect his _way of life_!" He shrieked, swiping a gas-lamp from the not-table. "Oh, you've ruined it. You've ruined everything."

"Sir, we apologize-"

"Such apologies are meaningless to me," He sat again, fury leaving his body slowly, "Tell the men, we're moving ahead earlier than scheduled."

"But, sir, you said doing anything before May would be ill-advised-"

"And your actions have proved trying to lay low is an impossibility," The sharp green eyes caught in the candle-light, boring into the poor messenger, "Tell them. I mean to resurface by week's end."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, sir, I will alert them immediately," The underling gulped and slunk away on his duty.

"Good," Loki relaxed again, "And one more thing; ensure, this time, that my brother does not see me coming until I am already there."

"Yes, sir, of course sir." When the echoed footsteps faded into absent sound, Loki stood again, pacing the long breadth of his tunnel-cell.

"Oh, my brother. I would have never wished us reunited in our states,"

He lifted his left hand into the lamplight to examine it. It is cold, discolored, and shining-plastic in the flickering light.

A prosthetic.


	8. Chapter 8: debts

Darcy let herself in through the open door.

"What's up with all those bulls outside?" She sidled up next to Thor, who was hunched over in a chair by his living room window, gazing out over the mid-afternoon street.

"Never mind, don't answer that. What happened? Did she say yes? Middle aisle?" She bent down, angling to get a clearer look at Thor's face. "Oh, oh no, Thor, did she say no?" Darcy's hands dramatically came up to cover her mouth.

"No-" Thor started, but his voice cracked, and he felt the tears beginning to well in his eyes again. He hung his head lower and began again, "Darcy, she's dead."

"_What_?" The strength left her legs and she sank to the floor, steadying herself on his knee and searching his eyes for truth, "Jane's dead? _How_?"

"She was-" He cut off as a sob threatened to choke him out, and he swallowed it back down, "She was shot. Outside, last night."

"But-But that's impossible, Thor, she can't be _dead_-"

"I was there, when she died," He couldn't hold back the storm of tears any longer, and they broke the levees of his eyes and tightened their hold around his throat and chest, "She bled out, in my arms."

"Oh, Thor," Darcy wrapped her arms around him, succumbing to weeping as well, "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I don't know, Darcy," Thor breathed, voice cracking, "I don't know."

The funeral was three days later. Most of Jane's small family was dead or incommunicado, so the event was only attended by a small throng of people, friends from around the apartment complex or her hospital work. It was a short affair. Thor didn't say any words, and she was buried in a family plot, next to her parents.

As the coffin was lowered six feet into the cold winter ground, Thor wondered. He wondered if everyone he loved, truly loved, had to be always so cruelly ripped from him. He was young, not even thirty, but he felt like he'd lost everything. His parents, the love of his life, his friends, gone from him, be it at the hands of death or slow-moving, cruel time. Even his brother had abandoned him, twice even, at the first sign of trouble.

Cursed. He had to be cursed.

He took up a second shift at work, toiling from the crack of dawn until the last train, falling to bed too exhausted to think. Quicker than he thought, he deteriorated. Dark circles hung under his eyes no matter how easy he tried to take it or how much sleep he'd had, and it seemed like the rest of his face aged a year for every day. He was tired, so _tired_, and he knew he couldn't keep this pace for long.

Every lunch break Thor took the subway, then the fifteen-minute walk to Jane's grave. He brought flowers once or twice, but really, he was just content to stand there, completely silent, and afford himself a few minutes to wallow in the happy memories.

Scarcely a fortnight after her burial (there was yet any grass growing over the black dirt beneath the simple headstone), it was pouring rain. A thunder-clap shook the sky every few moments, and the clouds had darkened the whole world to an extent Thor could never remember seeing, even during his days back in Wet England. _England. Home. Loki,_ he connected in his mind as he pounded the pavement towards the little cemetery.

The downpour and the cold distracted Thor from noticing the man already in front of Jane's grave until it was too late. He was tall, dressed all in black, like a mourner, and he had a black umbrella perched perfectly to protect himself from the torrent of rain. Slipping and sliding up the muddy hill, Thor moved closer to the mystery man. Eventually, the thunder and the pitter-patter of rain couldn't mask Thor's squelching footsteps, and the man's head turned sharply towards the noise. White skin, black hair, green eyes.

Sharp, bright, green eyes.

Thor lunged. They toppled to the ground, umbrella knocked into the wind's grasp and Loki trapped on the ground.

"Did you do it?" Thor barked, bracing his forearms too menacing into his never-brother's chest, trapping the air there, "Did you kill her?"

Loki just stared at him, trying to gasp for breath and scrabble for some purchase.

"Answer me!" Thor bellowed again, pressing harder then relaxing his hold to allow for breath.

Loki gasped voraciously, then choked out, "No, I didn't kill her."

"Then why are you here? You did not even know her!"

"Oh, Thor," Loki tried to laugh, but it only came out as a raspy coughing fit, "Still as dull as I left you."

"Why did you return?" Thor repeated, rage slowly leaving his tired body. He didn't have enough energy for all this, "And why would you come here?"

"The answer to the second," Loki was still on the ground, though his voice was regaining it's natural tone, "is that I knew you would be here."

"You should have stayed in whatever wretched hole you were hidden away in," Thor ignored his answer, "You only bring sorrow wherever you go."

"You don't really mean that," Loki laughed again, and it was nearly the same as Thor remember now, only something was...off, "Golden-hearted, _sentimental_ Thor. How long did you know her? Two years, maybe more, and you won't even let _her_ go. _We've_ been together nearly all our waking lives_, _you could never let go of me, brother, we both know it."

"That's enough," His voice was bleak, "I have nothing to say to you, Loki. Leave." Thor wouldn't look at him.

"So you can go back to...what? Nothing? Because that's all you do, Thor, day-in and day-out, earning a meager wage and trying to forget me, _replace_ me, but we both know you can't. You'll never stop being a _slave_ to your-"

"I said, _that's enough_!" Thor was on top of him again, pinning down his arms, but as soon as his hands had enclosed around them, he drew back. Loki's left arm was hard, it wasn't-

Loki's clear laugh rang low from his diaphragm, "Do you like it, brother?" His right hand reached around and pulled back his left sleeve, showing the crude plastic prosthetic, "I'm part-fake, now."

"How much is gone?" Thor had a sick sense of foreboding deep in his core. "Oh, up to about, hmm, here," He indicated a line a few inches from his shoulder with his real hand, "You should know it, there was a bullet there the last time we were together."

"I-" Suddenly his throat was dry and closed, "I thought we got it out."

"Not well enough, I'm afraid. The mixture of lead poisoning and festering bacterial infections led a rather illegal type of doctor to chop my arm off." Loki's tone was dripping with lighthearted comedy, but his face was stone-serious.

Thor could only stare. He was being manipulated again, it wasn't his fault, he shouldn't feel guilty, but he was.

"I tell you what," Loki dragged himself up, straightening out his now positively muddy suit, "I'll be here tomorrow, same time, and I'll take you to live with me. If you _prefer_ living this pathetic excuse for a life until you become so tortured and bored you blow your own brains out, be my guest and don't show up. But if you don't want that," Loki paused here, for emphasis, staring at the man still in the mud below him, "You know what to do."

He turned on his heel and stomped proudly through the graveyard, bending slightly to retrieve his umbrella from where it had caught against a tombstone, and striding right out into the busy street, not looking back. Thor still sat in the mud, dazed, chest heaving as he was chilled to the bone by the rain. Lightning cracked through the sky and he realized instantaneously;

_I want to go with my brother_.

All the self-deception, all the repetition of_ I hate Loki for what he's done to me, to others, I hate him, I hate him_, vanished. Carried away on the wind, as he realized he didn't have to compensate for the loss, to rationalize his grief, lock it away and make excuses for it, as what had been ripped from him was right in front of him now, offering him happiness, relief. He didn't hate his brother. He could _never_ hate his brother. The mere thought of it seemed repulsive, watching his brother walking swiftly down the hill from him. He loved his brother, in all the ways brothers should, and in all the ways brothers shouldn't.

Suddenly, he wanted to reach out, to run after, to hold on to Loki with all his might and never let go again, but his senses came to him. Better not to cling, better not to suffocate, better not to make another mistake with his brother. He had to play it cool, to not reveal how gaping and fresh the wounds in his soul were, wrent by Time and Death, and by Loki's own hand. A little caution could only benefit him.

Noon, the next day, with letters explaining his sudden leave to his employer and landlord, Thor set out for the graveyard hill. He had spent all the night before agonizing over his brother's return, about the feelings and doubts surrounding the brother he'd been convinced was an evil, rotted, unloving bastard that deserved every ounce of hate Thor could muster towards him. Yet, his brother returned again, out of the cold, wet day and he still fell to his knees, still dropped everything to be with him. He wondered how much of a masochist he could be, that he was clinging to a hope he didn't really have, that his brother was going to be his new salvation.

But Thor realized New York had become just as dead without Jane as England had become without Loki. He needed to flee his memories all the same, a second time, and Loki was merely his doorway, his key to escape. At least, that was how he'd justified it to himself. Loki was just a means to an end, this time. He would not get so attached again. He would not lose everything a fourth time.

The sky was overcast, dark but not raining, and Loki was in front of Jane's gravestone. In the distance he spied a few black-clad men waiting by a black-clad car on the other side of the cemetery's wrought-iron fence, and by the way they were watching him and his brother they were presumably Loki's men. Thor set his two suitcases, filled with winter and summer, formal and informal clothes, down on the grass.

"So you did come," Loki commented, in a lighthearted tone, "You were so _late_ I'd begun to doubt your love for me."

"I doubted it, as well," Thor did not indulge him, "These many months apart."

That pulled Loki up short. He turned his head and waved to the men, then started the slow trek towards the gate. Thor didn't move.

"What are you waiting for?" Loki called, pausing in his step but not turning to face him.

"I'd like to know where we're going," Thor answered, "Before we leave."

"Why," Loki turned now, and Thor realized he was not wearing his fake arm. The sleeve of his coat flapped in the slow breeze, "I thought I would ask you that very same question."

"You mean, I get to decide where we're going to live, now?" Thor was a bit taken back.

"Yes, Thor," A small smile tugged at his lips, "I thought I could afford you that choice, seeing as I've run out on you twice now." _And you've never run out on me_, Loki's mind added bitterly.

"What?" Thor looked on in abject disbelief. Loki had taunted him all yesterday, and now he was playing nice? Whatever ploy this was, Thor was not going to fall for it. He stayed rooted to his spot, forcing Loki to walk back up to him.

"I owe you that much, Thor, for putting up with me," Loki said in a quieter voice, "Wherever, whatever you'd like, I will oblige."

"What's your play?" If Thor had ever learned anything from his father, it was when to be cold and stern and withholding.

"I'm so _tired_, Thor," Loki placed a thin hand on his brother's face, "So tired of the mob, so tired of running, so tired of being away from _you_," Green eyes bore into blue, and Thor could find no hint of dishonesty in them, "You, my only family, the only object of my affections. Don't think, for a second, that you were the only one hurt by my disappearance."

And Thor could see it, the hurt in his face, in his eyes, and he realized apart, after coming so close together, would have been awful for Loki as well. "Then why?" Thor felt his resolve break, "Why did you still leave?"

Loki chuckled, a sad imitation of his usual laugh, "I thought it would have been for the best. The most logical option. I figured if there was any small happiness left in your life, it would not have been with me. But cruel fate must keep twining us together, so we may not escape each other."

"Loki, I would not wish to escape you ever again," With that, Thor pulled his brother into his arms. All reservations, all sensibility he'd tried to keep about himself in the meeting, disappeared. He threw caution to the slow churning breeze, and bared his true heart to his brother of lies.

"If fate will have us together, then I agree. Let us stay together until the end of days."

Loki sniffled a yes, and remembering his men and the car, grabbed one of Thor's bags and went off down the hill again. The clouds parted slightly, and Thor hesitated again.

A few sunbeams were casting themselves upon his brother and his path, and once, in what felt like eons, Thor could feel happiness and hope entering him again. He didn't care what the world threw at them from here on after, he would cling to his brother to only ever be parted by death.


	9. Chapter 9: abide

The car was cramped. The two men, one driving, sat in a small open carriage at the front, and Thor and Loki sat beside luggage on opposing bench seats, their section walled and curtained and roofed.

"So, where are we going?" Thor said after a what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, "I haven't said, yet, where I want to go."

"We're not leaving for your yet-to-be-named destination, immediately, obviously," Loki explained calmly, working a black leather glove onto his plastic hand, "Until you make your decision and I can make all the necessary arrangements, we will be staying in Atlantic City."

"New Jersey?"

"Yes, at the Ritz-Carlton," Loki held the other glove out to his brother, then presented his right hand, "If you wouldn't mind."

Thor took the glove, then his brother's hand in his own. It was smoother than a man's should be, and thinner than Thor had last seen it. It was also cold, so impossibly cold; but Loki's extremities had been cold even since childhood. He pulled the leather snugly over the bone-like hands, but when Loki started to take it away, Thor closed his grip around it. Green eyes flashed up to meet blue, startled, but immediately softening. They stared at each other, scarcely breathing, until finally the blonde man moved forward, closing the distance between their lips.

When they pulled apart, Loki let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Thor readjusted his grip on Loki's hand and twined his fingers tentatively in Loki's black hair, pulling them closer again.

"You can't imagine how much I've missed you," Thor susurrated, hot breath tickling Loki's ear.

_Yes, I think I could_, Loki thought, but he bit down his comment and nuzzled into Thor's shoulder, inhaling lungfuls of the familiar scent he never found a match to again.

"Loki," Thor muttered, loving the way it rolled off his lips so easily now, the way it sounded when it hit his ears and didn't cause a wave of unwelcome, heart-wrenching feelings. He said it again. And again and again and again. And at every call of his name from Thor's lips, Loki tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, bringing their bodies closer together. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Loki drew back just enough to look the bigger man in the eyes.

"Thor," he answered, and they came together again.

Unlike their last time together, Thor was the one who pushed on desperate and fast, afraid his not-brother would slip away from him another time. Loki was calmer, and slightly rigid, like he'd nearly forgotten what this felt like, and his brain and body were struggling to process. The car went over a particularly nasty pothole and they were both jolted, teeth and noses clacking together, and luggage jostling.

"Sorry about that," The henchman riding in the outdoor passenger seat slid back the window, yet the curtain remained closed, "Everything alright back there?"

"Yes," Loki sounded disheveled, "Yes, we're fine," he managed to say evenly, and as the window shut again both the men's bodies sagged in relief

"Maybe...it's a bad idea to do this now," Thor admitted squeamishly.

"Nonsense, dear brother," oh, how well Loki could use words, "We'll just have to remain as quiet as possible."

'As quiet as possible' was apparently not quiet enough, judging by the stiff, awkward looks about the two other men when the finally disembarked at their destination. The hotel was beach-side, but the frigid winter air made any thought of swimming or sunbathing unthinkable. The cold, salty smell filled his nostrils, and he turned back to Loki, who was relaying orders to the men and the hotel-boys they had come out to assist them. With the wind running through his gelled, black hair, ruffling his dark clothes around his lean body, Thor realized just how much he loved his brother, how incalculably glad he was to have him back.

They entered the hotel, Loki's smart shoes echoing on the perfectly clean floors of the lobby. Crossing directly to the elevator, Loki produced two keys in an envelope handed to him by one of his men before they'd gone inside. He handed one to Thor.

"We are in room 301," He said to Thor as the elevator doors closed and he directed the elevator attendant to to third level. They disembarked, Loki's footfalls almost silent against the carpeting, while Thor's seemed no more muffled. Their room was across from a stairwell, and their living room window provided a lengthy, but non-fatal falling escape, if need be. Loki noted both. The luggage arrived a few moments after, and Loki set about unpacking at once.

"How long are we staying?" Thor was hanging the finer clothes he'd packed for himself, and stowing the others in his side of the dresser.

"Depends on you, brother mine," Loki mused, "Though I could only hold these rooms for a week, so you might have to rush." "A week? There's no rush to that," Thor replied

"A full seven days is ample time for only decision, yes, but you do forget all the arrangements to be made. Travel, housing, to name a few. And depending on how far you'd like to take me," Loki walked across the bedroom to Thor, "it could take a good amount of time."

"So, when is my deadline?" Thor smiled, slithering his hand to the small of Loki's back and idly pulling him closer.

"Hm...today it Thursday, so..." Loki's eyes looked away, head caught in calculations, "anything in a major metropolitan area or in the Northeast I could handle at the latest Tuesday...and anything within a day's travel by train, on Monday, anything In the North- or South-west I'd need to know by Saturday...and anything out of these forty-eight United States I'd need to send off orders by tomorrow," he finished with a smile, pecked Thor on the cheek, and went back to his work on the other side of the room.

"Tomorrow?"

"Only if you don't want to limit your options so, brother dearest," Loki chided, fluidly balancing a stack of clothes on his good hand and whisking them into the drawer. Thor snorted, returning to his own trunk.

When he had emptied it completely and closed the lid, he looked up to see his not-brother draped across one of the queen-sized beds, divested of his heavy coats, surveying him from under half-lidded eyes. Thor faltered slightly, cheeks flushing at the sight of his beautiful brother so ready to be ravaged. Loki only arched a dark eyebrow in silent questioning, as Thor crossed the room to stand at the side of the bed.

"Like what you see, brother?" Loki purred, green eyes gazing up mischievously through dark lashes.

"Mostly," Thor conceded, bringing one knee up to the bed and leaning closer to the man laying down, "Though I do think there could be some improvements made," he punctuated his statement by running his fingers down the smaller man's clothed chest, then tightening them around the black necktie and pulling ever so slightly. Loki growled and his hand shot up to grasp at Thor's shirt, bunching the fabric and bringing Thor's face down to this level. The kiss was brutal, both so depraved of and hungry for each other, feelings only magnified by their time apart.

Undoing the satin tie, Thor stowed it in his back pocket before turning his fingers to the task of unbuttoning his brother's shirt. He slipped that and his brother's undershirt off, while Loki fumbled to one-handedly unbuckle Thor's belt. A bolt of wicked lightning flashed through Thor's mind as he swiftly took both his brother's hands and the black tie in his back pocket, tying his brother's wrists to the headboard.

"Oooh, kinky," Loki breathed, testing the knot but not actually desiring escape. Thor only grinned, pulling his shirt over his head and fully undoing his belt, before turning to the rest of Loki's clothes. In one swift motion, belt, pants and undergarments were removed, leaving Loki to shiver at the cold air now enveloping him. Thor drew back, sitting on his heels and observing the truly delectable creature before him.

"Having seconds thoughts?" Loki prodded, rotating his hips ever so slightly and smiling.

"No, just..." Thor wanted to explain just how exquisite he thought Loki was right now, but his head was too lust-addled and he was never good with words anyways. "Lube," he finally stammered out.

"Left pants pocket," Loki muttered, pupils so blown that their piercing green was invisible.

Thor slid off the bed, shimmying out of his jeans as he found the little bottle in Loki's trousers. When he looked back to his brother, he found that he'd rearranged himself, arms in a more comfortable position, chest rising and falling, legs spread wide. Thor could barely contain himself as he clamored back onto the mattress, settling himself on his elbows with his face in Loki's crotch.

"What are y-_ohhh_" Loki moaned, hips canting upwards as Thor tentatively took his cock into his mouth, rough hand ghosting around the base. Thor had never, ever done anything like this before, but he tried to imagine what would make himself feel good and applied it to Loki. Long, powerful licks, teasing swirls around the leaking tip, taking as much of his brother's length into his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks. Each drew delightful gasps and moans from the man beneath him, but it was when he sucked in cold air or blew warm air around his brother's shaft that he seemed to lose it. As he felt his brother's shaking thighs signal his release was near, he drew back. Loki whined, adjusting his lower half impatiently, but as he saw Thor pouring the lube over his thick fingers, he fell silent.

In the overstimulated pause, Loki felt a long bead of sweat drip down his arched back, and he mewled as Thor's cool, wet fingers pressed against his entrance. "Yes, oh god, yes," he hissed as Thor breached him, fingers claiming the most intimate part of him. Thor brought their lips together again, adding a second digit tenderly. Loki laved at his brother's mouth wantonly, completely consumed by desire and only wanting _more, more, more of this_.

Loki hadn't noticed the third finger was inside of him until it was drawn out. Mewling again, he watched greedily as Thor positioned himself.

"Ready?" Thor managed to pant out, glancing up at the other man's face. Loki, too strung out at the moment, could only manage a playful wink to constitute consent. Thor pushed, slow burn cleaving Loki in two from the inside out. As soon as he was all the way in, he pulled out nearly as slow as he had entered.

"Faster," Loki whined, wrapping his skinny legs around Thor's middle and tightening all the muscles in his lower body. Thor gasped, feeling Loki around all of him, and he obliged the request.

"More, harder!" Loki was forced to use his words, without his hands to give pleasure, "Oh, Thor, yes, give-give it all to me!" Any sort of volume control he'd been using earlier disappeared, his moans and mewls and demands obscenely loud. In the back of his head, Thor wondered if the other guests at the hotel could hear them, and what they would think of it, but watching the man beneath him buck and writhe and scream for him banished those worries.

"Take it," Thor tried to reply, "Loki, you're so-ah!-tight...oh, _yes_," their dirty-talk melded with the sickly-sweet sounds of skin slapping against skin, the smells of sex and sweat and _want_ heavy around them.

Loki couldn't take it all any longer. He came, shrieking Thor's name at the top of his lungs as every muscle in his body so tightly contracted. Completely sure someone must've heard that, Thor redirected his attention to his own climax. He increased his pace, slamming helplessly into his brother's spasming form, observing the effects of what he'd done to his brother. Loki, reaching the end of his orgasm, was able to unscrew his eyes open, staring right into Thor. In that instant, the tidal wave of release crashed against the larger man, engulfing him in pure, white-hot, pleasure.

He pulled out and collapsed on the other side of the bed, senses still numb but gradually returning.

"Thor?" Loki's voice was hoarse and low as he wiggled his arms, hands still restrained above his head. Thor blinked once, then hurriedly untied the knots. Instantly, Loki's arms shot around him, thin hand pinning his chest to the bed. Very unsure of his stamina for another round, he was glad that Loki relaxed after the initial pounce, curling up against his brother's warm body.

"I missed you," Thor blurted out.

"You've said that," Loki didn't move, forefinger running along Thor's pectoral muscles idly.

"Because I mean it," Thor answered, "I really do. We're never going to be apart again." He said it like it was scientific fact, unreputable and unshakeable.

"Never? What about going to the bathroom?" Loki chuckled, but Thor took his face, firmly but gently, and turned it towards his own.

"Loki," Thor stared right into those green eyes with utmost sincerity, waiting for as long as it would take for Loki to concede understanding.

"Sorry," Loki murmured, finally tearing his eyes away, "Yes, I know. Forever."

His arm extended to flick off the bedside table lamp, and in the newfound darkness, Thor realized the sliding glass door to the balcony was open. A jolt of fear mixed with embarrassment moved through him, but as his brother's head rested itself neatly in the crook of his shoulder, and he felt the warm wisps of breath gently brushing his chest, all his worldly worries, all his other thoughts evaporated. It was only he, and Loki.

Just the two of them, alone in the vast, vast world.

The soft morning light filtering through the curtains, combined with the slow crash and draw back of the tide, woke Thor the next morning. Loki was nowhere to be seen, and Thor nearly panicked, wondering if it had all been a sick dream.

He propelled himself from the bed, pausing only to put on some pants, and checked the adjacent bathroom first. Dark, no one within. He stalked into the living room, finding a full breakfast set out on the dining table, and Loki perched upon a chair.

"You're awake," Loki observed.

"Did you...make all this?" There were pancakes, cooked excellently, with a dish of scrambled eggs and a bowl heaping with fresh fruit. Pitchers of milk and orange juice flanked a platter of sausage and bacon, and all the condiments were lain out before him.

"No, room service," Loki smiled his coy smile, and Thor's heart panged at how much it hadn't changed, not even since childhood.

Thor grinned, "Could we, perhaps, eat on the balcony?"

"Are you sure you're dressed warmly enough?" Loki gestured to Thor's lack of clothes. The larger man excused himself, pulling on a shirt and a heavier coat before rejoining his brother.

Loki was seated with his own plate, staring out over the ocean, and Thor served himself from the table before going outside.

"I see your appetite has not diminished," Loki commented upon seeing how Thor had stacked heaps of food on his plate.

"I've a lot of energy to regain, after last night," Thor winked, taking a bite out of the sausage he'd speared on his fork. Loki looked slightly terrified at the gesture.

"So, I was thinking Paris," The blonde man thought it was best to just change the subject.

"Paris?"

"For where we're going to spend forever."

"Are you sure?" Loki gave him a condescending smile, "You were always terrible at French in school."

"Ah, but you were skilled at it, weren't you?"

"Oh, yes, and I've had so much practice since then, gang-banging in America," Loki rolled his eyes, but then reconsidered, "But, if it's really where you'd like to go..."

"No, it was silly," Thor admitted, "Imagine, the two of us, in Europe again?" He suddenly remembered that Loki had been stationed in France, during the war, and he felt guilty for bringing it up so lightheartedly. Loki didn't respond, merely continued eating.

"I hear the Southwest is nice this time of year," Thor regressed.

"The desert?" Loki shot him another questioning look, "Polar opposite from our rainy old England."

"It'd be an adventure, right? We could live in a small town, have to work our own land to get our food and wages, see all of the stars at night..."

"So eager to escape the city life?" Loki mused, "I didn't know you disliked it so much."

"No, I don't hate cities, but..." Thor looked out to the horizon, "It's something I've never done before, and I want to do everything with you, Loki." He gazed over at his brother's face.

Realizing his mouth was slightly agape, Loki squared his jaw and collected himself, replying;

"Alright, Thor. Let's do everything."


	10. Chapter 10: divided hearts

The rest of the day was spent relaxing. Loki made phone calls and arrangements quietly in the living room while Thor napped away all the stress and exhaustion he'd built up overworking himself. When he awoke, the sun was setting, casting it's orange light from behind the building and across the glittering sea. There were dark clouds out on the horizon, slowly but surely approaching. Spying them, Thor unconsciously shivered as a very low rumble of thunder approached from the ocean, barely perceptible through the glass and the distance, but there all the same. He got out of bed, finally, and changed into a pair of navy blue trousers and a red button-down shirt, then exited the bedroom.

"You're going to need to look nicer than that," Loki scoffed, walking briskly past him.

"What for?" Thor turned around, retracing his steps to see Loki pulling his own clothes out of his closet space.

"We're going out for dinner, simpleton," Loki said it like it should have been obvious.

"Oh," Thor did feel pretty simple for not thinking of it, even though it was perfectly reasonable not to know. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, as he hadn't eaten again since their extravagant breakfast.

"Do control yourself until we get to the restaurant," Loki rolled his eyes, though a bright smile quickly replaced his feigned sour look.

"What restaurant?" Thor hummed, going to his own closet.

"A friend of a friend's,"

"So, a speakeasy," Thor knew Loki didn't have 'friends' in the conventional since of the word, and if he did, they certainly didn't own the types of restaurants Loki frequented.

"If you must call it that, yes," Loki huffed, "But it's much more upper-crust then those holes in the wall you wasted your time in New York in."

"How could you know about all those speakeasies, anyways?" He pulled his only sport coat off the rack.

"I _found_ you in one, remember? And that suit jacket does not go with those pants, Thor."

Thor did remember; "I think that _I_ was the one found _you_, though," He laughed returning the jacket to its previous place, "And this is my only jacket."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'll make a call to get you a proper one, then," Loki walked out of the bedroom to the living room telephone, spinning the dial.

"As _I_ recall, you ran away from me," Thor followed.

"Anyone with half a brain would run away from-Yes? It's me." Loki retorted before the returning end picked up. Thor waited patiently, smiling, for his brother to finish.

"They'll be up in fifteen," Loki hung up, turning to Thor.

"Then we have plenty of time," Thor gathered his not-brother into his arms.

"For what?" Loki asked for asking's sake; he knew that look in Thor's eyes. The larger man answered in the form of a sloppy kiss.

Fifteen minutes later, the knock at the door forced Loki to extract himself from between Thor and the couch. He straightened himself as much he could and opened the door and took the parcel without mincing any words. Pulling the string and the paper from the garment, he returned to Thor. The jacket was light silvery-gray, with three charcoal-colored buttons, as close to Thor's size as they could manage on such short notice. Thor reached for it, but Loki batted his hand away.

"Wait," he hissed, "You need to iron _those_ first," he motioned to Thor's current outfit, which was rumpled from their ministrations on the couch.

Thor rolled his eyes and began unbuttoning his shirt, following Loki into the bedroom. The black-haired man retrieved the iron from the back of the closet and walked back out to place it on the tiny kitchenette's stove to heat it. Carrying the ironing board out into the open, Thor set it up beside the bed and waited, laying his shirt and pants as gracefully as possible over the plank and waited in a bathrobe. A few minutes later Loki returned with the hot iron, starting to work on the wrinkles and folds of Thor's clothes.

Watching intently, Thor began to notice-or rather, rediscover-the minutiae of Loki's conduct and posture, the way the muscles in his arm slid over each other as they moved, the way his eyes darted about keenly, the nigh-imperceptible nods of his head that rustled his long black hair. Then he noticed the knotting of the left shirtsleeve, scarcely three-quarters of a foot below the curve of the shoulder.

"Did it hurt?" Thor blurted out.

"Did what hurt?" Loki didn't even look up, placing the iron down at the protected side of the board before one-handedly rearranging the shirt.

"Your arm," Thor elaborated, "When they amputated."

Loki chuckled, but it was a hollow thing, "No, ah, I was under anesthetics, and enough morphine to kill a slighter man."

"What about now? Does it still...cause you any pain?" Thor was so terrible with words and delicate situations.

"Occasionally," Loki breathed, ironing pace slowing considerably, "When I'm wearing the prosthesis, mainly."

"I'm sorry," Thor said sincerely, then looked at his hands in his lap, realizing how sweaty they'd become.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for," Loki had finished with the shirt, laying the iron down but not motioning to move it or the trousers.

"I should've done a better job taking the bullet out."

"I should've done a better job not getting shot in the first place," Loki scoffed, finally moving the shirt to the other end of the board and reaching for the pants. Thor had stood from his seat at the bed, and caught Loki's thin wrist. The smaller man had visibly tensed, fear dancing behind his green eyes.

"Why are you so afraid of touching?" Thor whispered, leaning slowly over the board.

"The better question is; why am I afraid of love?" Loki tried to relax, staring into his not-brother's eyes.

"Because..." Thor let his mouth stay parted in thought, the silence almost deafening in his pause, "Because you think you don't deserve love."

_A wise deduction, finally_, the cleverer part of Loki's brain thought, but his mouth didn't move. Thor closed the distance between them, an innocent kiss.

"The iron's getting cold," Loki murmured when they pulled back.

"Let it get cold."

This time it was Loki, a hungry joining of lips and teeth and tongue that left them gasping for breath when they finally teared apart. Thor's stomach grumbled again, and they both lost their composure.

"It's getting late, and you need your dinner, apparently," Loki patted Thor's belly affectionately and picked up the iron, disappearing back into the main room.

In less than fifteen minutes they were pressed and dressed and out onto the Atlantic City streets, Thor in his silver-red-navy get-up, while Loki was bundled in a black sports coat, trench coat and slacks, his only concession to color the green tie around his neck and the gold scarf hung loosely about his shoulders. He was not wearing his left arm.

"Do we really have to walk?" Thor was regretting not wearing a heavier coat, eying the icy sidewalks suspiciously.

"I'm not going to waste money on a cab when we both have our own pairs of functioning legs," Loki taunted, "Walk faster, then, it will keep you warm," he quickened his pace and lengthened his gait, leaving Thor momentarily in his dust.

"How far do we have to go then?"

"Patience," Loki clucked, turning off the main street. They walked further out from the brightly-lit, friendlier part of downtown, but Thor noticed how fancier and fancier cars were appearing parked along the side of the streets and in driveways and lots. Eventually, at the bottom of a small hill, there lay a small, one-story building, with a sign that read 'Enchantress Bistro and Lounge.'

"Oh, no, this isn't one of those-" Thor started, very wary of this restaurant's location and title.

"Patience," Loki repeated, and though Thor wanted to protest further he shut his mouth.

The inside was dimly lit and smelled heavily of cigarette fumes, though there weren't any decorations or happenings that suggested a strip club; in fact, it looked like a run down bar that had been forced to convert itself after the eighteenth ammendment had been ratified. However, it was warm inside, and for that, Thor was grateful.

Loki pushed ahead without pause, slipping a business card and what looked like some sort of invitation out of his jacket and handing it to the hostess. She looked it over and nodded, then disappeared from her post. Loki simply stepped to the side, pulling a small pack of smokes and a book of matches from his jacket.

"I didn't know you smoked," Thor remarked, wondering silently about all the other things he didn't know about his brother.

"When in Rome," Loki sighed, offering Thor the box and the matches, "Would you mind?"

Thor took them, taking a cigarette out and handing it to Loki, who placed it jauntily in the corner of his mouth. He struck a match and held it near his not-brother's face. It finally caught, and Loki puffed out a slim string of smoke into the space between them. Thor didn't moved, transfixed by the way the smoke curled out from under his not-brother's pale lips, the way it shrouded the rest of it's features on it's slow float upwards.

The hostess returned, clearing her throat to announce her presence. Thor jumped, but Loki merely turned smoothly to follow her, another wisp of smoke flowing from him. They walked to the back of the building, stopping before a wall covered in three coats of decrepit, peeling, hideous wallpaper.

"Password?" The hostess asked, seemingly to no one as she was staring at the wall as well.

"Serrure," Loki answered, and Thor had to hold back a scoff, _your French is still as fine as ever, brother_.

She knocked a tune into the sad wall and a section of it popped open, revealing a small concrete antechamber with another man inside. Loki walked in without hesitation, and Thor followed. The hostess remained outside, nodding to the other man before turning away. The floor was metal grating, and as the wall-door closed he could hear the faint hum of music and chatter below. It was pitch dark now, and he felt the tiny room lurch and moved downwards. It was an elevator. They descended slowly in the blackness, but a ream of gold light peaked out from below and grew into a scene the complete antonym of the building above. It was spacious and packed to the brim with guys and their ladies, with waiters and dancers and two separate bars on each side of the room. In the middle there was a dance floor, and on the back wall a stage with musicians beating out a jazzy tune. Another hostess approached them, returning Loki's business card and leading them to a booth in the back right corner, away from prying eyes and the brunt of the band's loudness. Most of the tables around them were empty or quiet, and a waiter arrived within moments, giving them menus and taking their drink orders. Loki, of course, ordered them alcohol, a couple of moonshine shots and a bottle of bootlegged wine. He took another drag of his cigarette before removing it from his mouth, perched perfectly between two slender fingers. Thor couldn't tear his eyes away until the blonde woman appeared at their table.

"Loki, darling, what a pleasant surprise!" She exclaimed. Thor noted her English accent, and the bulky man behind her that hadn't announced his own presence.

"You know I can't step foot in this neck of the woods without coming to see you," Loki chuckled.

She laughed, a clear and bright thing, and it upset the emerald beads on her dress and headband, causing them the sparkle in the light, "Oh, you flatter me. Who's your date?" She smiled at Thor.

"This is Thor," Loki gestured towards the blonde man, "Thor, this is Amora, the 'Enchantress' mentioned by the sign."

"Amora," Thor repeated, offering a handshake, "Nice to meet you."

"Oooh, a proper gentleman," Amora commented, "And such_ strong_ hands," She flashed another flirty grin at Thor.

He nodded his head, considerately, but he was fairly overwhelmed by her forwardness, especially after implying that he was Loki's date.

"Anyways, your entire meal and drinks, on the house," She turned back to Loki, clapping her hands together.

"We couldn't possibly-" Loki started to refuse.

"I insist," She waved Loki's complaints away. Just then their waiter returned, and she addressed him, "Put everything they order on my tab."

"Yes, miss." The waiter confirmed, placing Thor and Loki's drinks on their table and leaving along with Amora and the large, silent man. Thor watched them go with a dumbstruck expression.

"Don't worry about her", Loki said, sipping at his shot with his lit cigarette still in his fingers against the glass. Thor swallowed, moving to uncork the wine. He poured himself a glass and looked over the menu. When the waiter had taken their meal orders a few moments later, Loki stood.

"Fancy a dance, brother?" He smirked, extending his hand. Thor had noticed more and more people were piling onto the dance floor, and the band beginning to wind down into slower melodies.

"Most definitely," Thor allowed himself to smile back, taking Loki's hand and being led to the edge of dance floor.

"Just one song; to pass the time," Loki murmured as the band struck up a haunting, violin-heavy love song and he pressed himself up against Thor, seemingly uncaring of the people around them. The people around them didn't mind much either, as every couple in the whole restaurant seemed preoccupied with and contained themselves at the moment, listening to the lilting female voice weave them a story about love and heartbreak, heaven and hell.

The two fell into an impromptu waltz, though they only had a small portion of the dance floor for movement. Thor took the man's part, much to Loki's immediate display, though he resigned to just resting his forehead on Thor's broad shoulder as they swayed to and fro in little circles. It felt like a small eternity, to Thor, to be able to hold his not-brother in his arms, the not-brother he thought lost, then found, then lost again, but finally was found by. The song came to it's ends, the violins and the singer hold one long, sad note. Loki pulled back, and Thor was suddenly desperately afraid he was going to lose him again.

"Don't worry, Thor, I am here," Loki whispered, and their lips brushed together.

"Always?" Thor asked, and Loki offered another melancholy kiss before his real answer.

A trumpet came to a small crescendo, overpowering the dregs of the song before fading into them and all into silence.

"Always."


	11. Chapter 11: ghosts

They returned to their table, Thor's head swimming in a strange sort of elation. Loki was here, Loki was with him, and Loki was going to be there forever and always. It was odd, the way it made him feel lighter than air, the lovely warmth that spread itself outwards from his core. He couldn't stop smiling.

"Why are you so excited? It better be that steak, for what it's costing us," Loki looked up at him from his bowl of soup.

Thor laughed, the heartiest laugh he could remember in ages, "No, no, it's you, Loki."

Loki looked genuinely surprised as a small flush colored his cheeks, "Just eat," He grumbled, trying to end the conversation, or at least steer it away. Thor only beamed again. Loki was the same old Loki he'd grown up with, the same Loki he'd fell in love with.

Dinner continued, Loki intensely focused on his food while Thor's mind ran rampant, imagining his and Loki's new life together in New Mexico, until the men in black seemed to materialize from the crowd. Thor spotted them first, and they felt familiar, like he'd seen them before. There were three of them, dressed almost identically and wearing the same grave looks on their pockmarked faces. They came to a halt a few feet from the edge of the booth.

"Boss," one of them spoke up. Loki turned his head, and his expression immediately turned sour.

"I told you I didn't wish to be disturbed tonight."

"It's-" Another said out loud, before moving closer and whispering something into Loki's ear. Whatever it was, Loki turned three shades whiter and stiffened, distraught. On of the other men moved forward, producing a manila folder from his coat and handing it to the other henchman, who passed it to Loki.

"What's going on?" Thor finally asked. The three men turned at him, only offering grim looks.

"Nothing to worry about, brother," Loki answered, though his voice had jumped a few octaves and the nervousness in his tone painfully obvious.

"What is going on?" Thor repeated, more demanding this time.

"_Nothing_, Thor," Loki had opened the folder in his lap, skimming it with wild eyes. He turned to the men, "Thank you. Leave us."

They departed hurriedly, but not before one of their coats had caught the folder and spilled it open onto the floor. They didn't notice, and disappeared as they had came, but Loki shot out of his seat and onto the floor, upsetting the table as he went but not paying it any mind. Thor sprang to action a few fractions of a second later.

"What is it?" He was trying to read the papers Loki was trying as fast as he could to conceal again, "Let me see."

"_No_!" Loki yelped, swatting Thor's hands away, "You can't"

"Why-" Thor had started to yell, but as Loki had tried to gather the haphazardly closed folder into his arms it's contents spilled again, right in front of those lines of vision. They were photographs, and it took Thor a moment to realize what they were of.

A crime scene. A homicide case. And Thor knew the victim.

"_What_?" Thor roared, not noticing how every table's occupant in their vicinity turned to look at the two, "Why do you have these?" A few words jumped at him from the documents spilled with the photos. 'Jane Foster,' 'November 27, 1924,' 'Gang involvement suspected.' Thor swiped his hands through them, hungry for more information. There was a list of suspects, names he'd never heard of before, until his eyes aligned with the one he'd been the most familiar with in his life.

"Loki Laufeyson," He breathed, "_Loki Laufeyson_."

Loki was completely aghast, abject terror in his features.

"You killed her," The tears were back again, "_You_ killed her!"

"No, Thor it wasn't me, please, let me explain-"

"_No_! No more words from you, you _murderer_," Thor screamed, standing, "You _monster_!" He turned, starting to run away.

"Please, Thor," Loki had scrambled to his feet and grabbed the larger man's wrist, "_Please_."

"No, Loki," Thor spat, wrenching his hand away, "I've had enough."

The blonde man took off into the crowd. It was a flurry of noise and color and tears in his eyes. He shut off all his senses and threw himself into the nearly full elevator, not caring about the group of girls obviously dismayed by his rude presence.

He didn't care, he didn't care anymore. Everything and everyone he loved was dead or a lie. No more. No more death and no more lies. No more love, no more sadness, no more running.

Well, a tiny bit of running, but it would be his last.

Loki was dumbstruck. It took what seemed like an age for him to gather enough of his fragmented existence to chase Thor into the crowd. He kept screaming, 'Thor, Thor, Thor,' pushing wildly past the other patrons, upsetting their drinks and their dresses, but he didn't care. All he could care about was Thor, finding Thor, explaining everything to Thor, stopping Thor from leaving him.

Loki was so accustomed to being the one leaving he couldn't imagine being left. He wouldn't imagine it. He wouldn't be left behind, not after all this. Finally, he spotted the blonde man storming into the elevator, and he yelled to try and get him to wait, but a sudden, dense throng of people meandering by blocked him. When he finally pushed past, the elevator was gone. A serviceman had to hold him back as he threw himself at the grate, trying to scream at Thor.

"Loki! What's happened?" Amora appeared at his side, her large man at her back again.

"It's Thor," Loki sobbed, "He knows."

"Oh _no_," Her usually cheery, plastic smile faded, "Skurge, take the service elevator and alert all the staff you pass on the way-don't let the blonde man out." The man behind her nodded and took off.

"It's no use," Loki slumped against the grate doors, the picture of absolute dejection.

"Don't say that,"Amora enveloped him in her arms faux-comfortingly, counting the seconds until the lift descended again, "Like you told me, you told us, you and we have worked this hard for him. For you both."

They sprinted through the decaying excuse of the ground level restaurant, Amora trying to see if any of her staff were about, and if they'd gotten her orders yet. She spotted Skurge and a small army of waitstaff and cooks emerge from the service elevator in the far corner, and cursed under her breath. Loki, however, was single-mindedly hurtling towards the street exit. He threw open the doors, oblivious to anything happening around him that wasn't Thor.

He saw it coming, and his legs seemed to forget how to move. His brother, head down, barreling across the street. The car going too fast, driver and passengers likely too drunk and tired to realize what was about to happen. But Loki did. In that startling moment of clarity, Loki saw everything.

But all he could do was scream.

Thor felt a ringing in his ears. Then came the sensation of the asphalt digging into his back, how cold and dry it was above him, and how wet and warm it was below him. He opened his eyes a tiny fraction, bright lights blaring at him from his left side.

Then came the pain.

It blared like a siren through every part of his body, shooting up his spine and into his brain. Vaguely, he heard exasperated women asking if someone was okay, car doors shutting, a pounding of footsteps a small distance away, and finally, a hoarse scream.

He knew the scream. It was his brother. He tried to open his eyes again, but it too him a few moments. When he did manage to scrape them open, he felt a raindrop on his face. Then another, but no others joined. His eyes focused, and he saw his brother's face hovering above his, he heard his name being called, over and over again, by the most familiar voice he knew.

"Loki..." Thor managed to choke out, but it caused a little fountain of blood to burble into his mouth and over the side of his lip. He needed to cough but he couldn't manage it through all the excruciating pain. He looked away, finally registering the lights near-blinding him as the headlights on a car. He'd been hit by a car. That explained it. He tried to chuckle, but it only caused more pain in his body, more blood in his mouth.

"Thor, brother, listen to me," Loki had taken his brother's hand, "You're going to be okay, we can get you fixed up, _I_ can. Just please, stay with me, stay awake, please, Thor, please," words sprang forth from his mouth, even though his head knew it was futile. Loki had seen enough car accidents to know when the victims weren't going to make it.

"I..." Thor began, trying his hardest to power though the fire his nerves were all engulfed in.

"Yes?" Loki fell into silence, leaning his ear closer to his brother's lips.

"Love..." a wheezing, gurgling breath, and shudder through his body that Loki could feel in his hand, "...you." Loki drew back, staring at his brother's face. Thor's face was contorted in what Loki could only believe was a smile, through all the cuts and blood and pain.

"Thor, I-" Loki thought to begin, "I l-"

But it was too late. Thor's hand went limp along with the rest of him. His eyes became glossy remnants of their former shining, blind forever and always unto the world.

Loki hadn't said goodbye. Never said 'I love you.'

He wasn't aware the feral roar of absolute misery was coming from him for a good few moments after it had begun.

When he recollected enough of his conscious mind, he pulled himself up from his weeping spot on Thor's chest. He looked at the battered, beautiful face, and moved his quivering hand to close his brother's eyes, finally and absolutely. He stood, though it felt like he was being kept there by the weight of the world he was so weak. Amora and Skurge were standing respectfully close, watching him with bated breath.

"Bury us together," Loki addressed her. Her eyebrows shot up and she started to speak, but Loki anticipated, "Where we were born."

He turned shakily and began to walk away.

"What do we tell them?" Amora called after him, voice clear in the freezing night air.

"Tell them," Loki took a shuddering breath, not looking back, "Tell them the Odinsons are dead."

And with that, he walked until he met the ocean, and let it swallow him whole.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Well, that's the end. Thank you all for reading, keeping up, and for all your encouragements/feedback. (I also apologize if I ripped your heart out at any and all times during. It's all a part of the package.)


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